


Bagginshield Fluffy February

by Emsiecat



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bagginshieldfluffyfeb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 60,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emsiecat/pseuds/Emsiecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr has decided to do an event for fans by fans during February called 'Bagginshield Fluffy February'. Each day there will be a prompt for fans to create a piece of fan-work about that is purely fluffy and loving.</p><p>    Here are my entries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Healing Tent Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the prompt for day one (though I'm posting it early): 'Bilbo kisses Thorin in the healing tents'.  
> Enjoy!

When Thorin came to, it was to the sharp bite of snow overlaid with the pungent aroma of medicinal herbs and cleansing washes, it was to the stifling warmth of a good many woollen blankets piled atop him and the crackling flames of a nearby brazier. 

It was to quiet conversation and pained groans of other patients in adjoining tents, and the sound which had woken him from his unconscious state; the shattering of a dish dropped by a certain hobbit, had been just loud enough to make him wince, his head throbbing as it was. 

"I am sorry, Óin. It just slipped-" 

"Hush now, it's been a tryin' a day for you as anyone else here; you should be abed yourself." 

Thorin tore his gaze away from the canvas ceiling of his tent in order to surreptitiously watch the scene unfolding across the other side of the makeshift room. Bilbo had kneeled upon the packed dirt floor to brush the shards of the broken dish into his hand. Óin; arms full of bandages, bustling over to try to argue his point again if need be. 

"I can't rest now, Óin… not until he-" Bilbo's voice was just shy of wretched, trailing off hopelessly as he stood and turned to Thorin's bed. 

The dwarf king feigned sleep before Bilbo could notice he was awake, though to what purpose Thorin was not sure he could say. However, he suspected that if he were being honest with himself; guilt and no small amount of shame would be the chief reasons for not wanting Bilbo to know he had been watching him. 

"I understand, lad, but you're half close to collapse yourself and that bump to yer noggin is nothing to sniff at. Why not go through to Fíli and Kíli's tent; there's enough room in there and you can get some sleep." 

It was clear to Thorin that this argument must be an old one by now, probably repeated numerous times over the course of however many hours it had been since he was last conscious. The tone in Óin's voice was weary, the lightest touch of impatience colouring his words, and it was obviously testament to how much his kin had grown to care for Bilbo that Óin had not yet forcibly ejected the hobbit from the tent. 

A healer he may be, but Thorin knew all too well that the elderly dwarf had razor thin patience when put under undue stress or when dealing with those too stubborn for their own good. 

"Óin, I understand, I really do but- I have to help… please?"

Had the action not pulled uncomfortably at the cuts on his face, Thorin might have smiled; their dear burglar, as headstrong as any dwarf and likely twice as loyal.

The situation was apparent now; Bilbo had been attempting to help Óin despite his own injuries. However, it seemed that exhaustion was finally catching up with him, making him clumsy. 

Óin sighed, setting aside the bandages and laying a surprisingly gentle hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "If I cannot convince you to go and take care of your own needs, go and clean up Thorin's cuts a bit. I only had time to deal with the worst of his injuries and stabilise him, afraid I might 'a neglected his pretty face, and we can't have a king lookin' like his head's been used as a warg's chew thing now can we?" 

Bilbo's lips quirked into what might have been a smile and he wagged a finger tiredly at the healer, quietly admonishing him for his words. "He doesn't look half as bad as all that, and you know it!" The hobbit let his gaze fall on Thorin again and the curl of his lips softened into something warmer as he continued. "Well… I suppose cleaning up that blood might make him feel a little better when he wakes… can't say I enjoy the feel of blood and grime myself." 

"Hn, good. Let me know if anything changes with him, I'll be next door seeing to the lads. Can't get Kíli to sit still for a moment and if he pulls those stitches out I'll be very tempted to clout 'im, injuries or no."

Bilbo nodded, smile widening to show a hint of teeth despite the tired look in his eyes and Thorin found it suddenly very difficult to pretend he wasn't awake as Óin harrumphed and left the tent, picking up the bandages once more as he went. 

Bilbo's shoulders slumped as soon as the healer disappeared, scrubbing a palm across his face as he finally let his façade drop and Thorin could see now just how very tired the hobbit appeared. The dwarf's heart ached for him and he longed to reach out and pull Bilbo close, but in his current state that was not possible, and given the events prior to the battle, Thorin could not be sure Bilbo would even welcome such a gesture. 

"I think you are the only one who has not yet earned Óin's ire today," Bilbo murmured as he filled a bowl with warm water and took up a clean rag before coming to seat himself beside Thorin's bed. 

For a moment, Thorin stilled, concerned that perhaps his guise of sleep had been poor and Bilbo knew he was awake. However, as the hobbit began gently cleaning the blood from his face and carried on speaking in warm tones about inconsequential things; Thorin realised Bilbo was merely speaking out of a need to do so, and had no notion that he was actually heard. 

"- A fine mess this all is, poor Óin is run off his feet along with the other healers. I am doing what I can to help of course, but I fear I am likely more of a hindrance. Fíli and Kíli make for terrible patients as well, you know; so that's not helping matters. I imagine you will be much the same when you wake… and I swear by everything good and green in this world that if you try to go about any kingly duties before you are fully healed I will be dreadfully cross with you, Thorin Oakenshield. Might even call for Thranduil to come and pester you just so that you know what a clot-head you're being-" 

"I would not presume to think our burglar could be so cruel as that." Thorin's voice was hoarse, a nearly painful rasp as he finally worked up the courage to let Bilbo know he was conscious. 

Bilbo's hands stilled; the rag he had been using still gently pressed to Thorin's cheek as he had been wiping away the blood there. The hobbit's eyes were wide in surprise and lips slightly parted as he let his gaze flick over Thorin's form.

Thorin smiled up at the hobbit tentatively, eyes open but heavy lidded as his heart thudded nervously behind pained ribs. He knew not what Bilbo's reaction would be to him waking. True, their last words had been of forgiveness and friendship, but what if that had only been a kindness on Bilbo's part, a way to ease Thorin's passing? 

He needn't have worried. 

Bilbo's face broke into a beatific grin, though his eyes were over-bright and his voice wavered as he finally spoke. "Oh, thank goodness you're awake! Óin said the worst of the danger had passed, but you lost so much blood and the wound was so close to- to-" The unshed tears in the hobbit's eyes fell, and Thorin was tempted to pull him into an embrace injuries be damned. However, Bilbo had other ideas and he dashed the tears away with the back of his hand before lowering his voice to a hiss; quite a feat considering how much he was sniffling. "How dare you! How _dare_ you worry us like that, Thorin!" 

"Bilbo, I'm sorry, I'm so-" 

"You daft fool; you and your nephews nearly got yourselves killed out there!" 

"Bilbo I-" For a moment fear overrode Thorin's need to apologise and he reached out suddenly, grasping Bilbo's hand tightly. "… Fíli and Kíli, how do they fare? Please, tell me, are they well?"" 

Whatever anger Bilbo might have felt at Thorin and his nephews' foolhardy actions on Ravenhill melted away like frost in the morning at Thorin's concerned question. The hobbit sighed softly, the sound exasperated but fond before his face brightened with the most enchanting smile Thorin had seen in an age. "They are fine, Thorin. Both of them will survive. They're terrible patients, Kíli especially; but Óin thinks given a few weeks they will be right as rain." 

Tension eased out of Thorin's posture and he relaxed fully into the pillows once more. He did not let go of Bilbo's hand however and instead kept it gently in his grasp, his thumb brushing softly at the skin along Bilbo's knuckles. "And you, Bilbo? Are you well? Óin mentioned a knock to your head and you have bandages-" 

"You were awake?" Bilbo's happy expression was marred by a frown and Thorin cringed. 

"I- ah… I may have been, yes. I am sorry, I just didn't know what to say and I misliked the idea of you feeling uncomfortable in my presence-" 

"Uncomfortable? Whyever would I be-"

"The battlements." Thorin's voice was awash with guilt, tongue darting out to wet chapped lips as he turned his gaze from Bilbo. "After what I did, what I said… I thought perhaps you would rather not speak to me quite so soon." 

"You really are an idiot, aren't you," Bilbo sighed. He set aside the damp rag so he could impulsively tuck a lock of Thorin's hair out of the way of his face. "I told you on Ravenhill that you were forgiven, do you not trust my words?" 

"I believe them… and I believe you thought you meant them… but you thought- and I thought I was dying. It would have been all too easy to say something kind simply to put my mind at ease and-"

"-and I will thank you to let me know my own mind, Thorin," Bilbo shot back, but there was little fire in his words. "I meant what I said; you were sick and it was a desperate situation we were all in. You are not to blame, and I forgive you. Please don't punish yourself for what happened." 

Thorin swallowed thickly, only now realising how close they had drifted together whilst talking. Feeling the worries from the past few hours begin to dissipate, Thorin let go of Bilbo's hand in order to reach up and gently brush his fingers across the bandage at his temple. "And your head?" he reminded Bilbo of his earlier question. 

"I am fine, Thorin. Óin checked me over and bandaged the cut. It actually looked worse than it was. My eyesight is fine, I've no dizziness, and some concoction or another Tauriel brewed for me banished the headache. You dwarves aren't the only ones to have stubbornly thick skulls I'll have you know." 

Thorin chuckled, the sound of it more a wheeze than laughter, and he winced at the strain it put on his ribs. Bilbo clucked his tongue, hands fluttering over Thorin's chest and shushing him. "Here now, don't go laughing when you're still full of holes and whatever else. Óin will clip me 'round the ear if you do any damage to yourself on my watch." 

"I'd not let him." Thorin smiled indulgently, his voice still hoarse. 

Noticing the scratchy quality of it, Bilbo ducked his head smiling before fetching a cup of water for Thorin to drink to soothe his throat. "Here, tilt your head a little." 

A hand slipped gently behind Thorin's head steadying him, and Bilbo tipped the cup to the dwarf's lips so he could drink. A few swallows were all that was needed for the rawness in Thorin's throat to ease, and he gave Bilbo's hand a gentle squeeze as he moved to set aside the cup. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Thorin." 

Silence reigned for a short while, Bilbo fiddling needlessly with Thorin's bandages before retrieving the washrag, cleaning it, and then returning to finish his task of wiping the blood and grime from Thorin's face. 

"You do not need to-" 

"I want to." Bilbo's interruption was coupled by a flush on his cheeks, a sight that Thorin found endearing and which prompted him to drop the argument.

The cloth gently moved from his forehead to his cheeks, down his neck, and was cleaned again before gently dabbed at his lips. "You've split it, sorry… just trying to make you look a bit more presentable." 

Bilbo's face was a picture of concentration, and close so very very close, and Thorin could feel his breath catch in his throat at the all encompassing presence of him. It had been months since Thorin had admitted to himself what he felt for the hobbit went far deeper than camaraderie or friendship, and he had thought there might be a chance his feelings were reciprocated… However, he couldn't know for sure, and he would hate to put pressure on Bilbo. 

"Am I not presentable enough then?" Thorin couldn't help but tease, hoping a little levity no matter how silly might ease the tension that had settled upon him. "I'm fully aware that my looks can't hold a candle to Dori or Bombur, but I was hoping I might at least pass for 'presentable' should anyone influential deign to visit my tent." 

Perhaps Bilbo was concentrating too hard on his task, or maybe exhaustion had finally affected him enough so that his lips were loosened. Whatever the reason, the hobbit found himself speaking before he could fully think his words through, and felt a great deal of mortification once he did. 

"Nonsense, you are the most handsome fellow here! I only meant to say you can't really be seen all bloodied up as you are since you are a king… it doesn't seem right. Oddly enough, you make a good effort of looking fine like this though. Still annoyingly attractive even covered in grime-" A pause, a blink, and a quiet squeak before- "Oh, oh no I-" 

"Handsome?" The question was sincerely asked, and Thorin's eyes had widened in disbelief. 

It was one thing to daydream but surely Bilbo couldn't truly find him attractive! 

"I- oh… I am so sorry, Thorin. I didn't mean to make you feel awkward. I just- you really are, you see? Very handsome indeed, and- and honourable, kind, clever… I - it's fine though, please think nothing of it. I swear I will never mention it again." 

Bilbo had sat back in alarm, hands wringing together as he babbled, an action which had Thorin reaching out to catch hold of the hobbit's hands and gently hold them still.

"Bilbo." Thorin waited until the hobbit had stopped fretting and looked up at him again before continuing. "It does not make me feel awkward, not at all… and I would have you know, since we seem to be telling secrets-" he paused and took a steadying breath before forging on- "I think you very handsome also. You are witty, intelligent, far braver than many give you credit for, and such a genuinely good person… I am greedy, for if I could I would keep you beside me for all time-" 

Thorin had no chance to utter another word as without further prompting; Bilbo had surged forward and captured Thorin's lips in a gentle kiss. 

The dwarf's eyes widened in surprise before fluttering closed; hands coming up to gently cup Bilbo's jaw and keep him from breaking the kiss. And though his wounds still hurt, his body ached, and tiredness dimmed his thoughts, Thorin found he could not care one whit for it as joy rushed through him like a rising tide. 

Bilbo's hands were gently tangled in Thorin's hair as he kissed him, lips just parted and breath warmly mingling, and the hobbit could feel callused thumbs brushing softly over the skin of his cheeks, sending pleasant tingles down his spine. Bilbo wasn't sure what he had expected, to either be pushed away or kissed back, but the care and devotion behind Thorin's responding kisses was enough to make Bilbo hum in delight, Thorin's mouth pulling away infinitesimally only to return and brush feather-light and lovingly against Bilbo's lips. 

Bilbo kissed him for long moments, revelling in each soft noise Thorin uttered as he concentrated on pouring every ounce of love into the kisses he gave. Eventually though, Bilbo reluctantly pulled away, remembering that Thorin was in fact still badly injured and in need of rest rather than impulsive kisses from a hobbit. 

Still… Bilbo leant back in, pressing one last chaste kiss to the corner of Thorin's mouth before mumbling a quiet confession against the dwarf's lips. "I love you, I have done for ages, and you wishing to keep me is not greed, Thorin, because I want to be kept and to keep you in return." 

Thorin smiled tiredly, eyelids heavy even as he leant in again to nuzzle against Bilbo's cheek affectionately. "I would happily be kept by you, Bilbo. I have loved you for quite some time also… I was simply too much of a coward to say so sooner." 

Bilbo's grin turned to bright laughter, a sound which warmed Thorin to the core. "You are no more a coward than I, so enough of that if you please." 

"Very well, I daresay we may both be fools though."

"Oh yes, we are that… a right pair of idiots really." Bilbo shook his head and fussed with Thorin's blankets for a moment before murmuring. "You really should rest; I can see you are tired." 

Bilbo was right of course; even remaining conscious for this length of time and speaking had robbed him of strength, not to mention the kisses. It was irritating, but he knew better than to complain or try to fight through his body's insistence to rest; it would only prolong his recovery time. 

"Very well, I shall rest. I believe you promised to report any change to Óin? You might want to let him know that I woke up… but if it is not too much trouble, I would quite like to have you stay here in my tent, you need rest also." 

Bilbo smiled, pressing a quick kiss to Thorin's forehead and promised to request a cot be brought in for him. A promise, which proved rather needless when they turned to find a quietly grumbling Óin, stood at the entranceway complaining about idiotic dwarf kings and hobbits. 

How long the healer had been stood there neither could say, but despite his complaints, Óin was kind enough to fetch a cot for Bilbo and have it set beside Thorin's. 

The old healer grumbled and groused as he bustled about the tent mixing up ointments and salves for other patients, telling Thorin of his nephews' continuing strain on his patience. His words fell on deaf ears of course, and he could not hide a smile when he turned to see the king and the hobbit curled as close together as their beds would allow, holding hands in their sleep.


	2. Erebor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone recognises the layout and theme of this chapter, it is because I intentionally set it up to be a sort of AU mirror to my 'Bagginshield Alphabet' chapter 'Home'. In this ficlet we see how Bilbo might come to view Erebor as home rather than the Shire. Hope it's alright!

For as long as Bilbo could remember. He had always held in his heart such surety on the definition of home. 

Home to him was the murmur of his parents' voices. Silenced now, but never forgotten so long as he held the memory of them close in his heart and within Bag End. It was warm, tilled earth, bright sun, and busy summer rain. Home was green rolling hills, small gurgling streams, the smell of bread baking, and the chatter and laughter that came with a congregation of many hobbits in one place; be it the market, one of the inns, or a party. 

To Bilbo home was the crackling turn of an old page of a book, the heady smell of hay gathered from fields, it was a whiff of pipe weed and however many smoke rings he could produce in one sitting. 

It was the burst of colour from fireworks on a midsummer eve, a sparkle of stars against the velvet dark of night sky. Home was everything one could fathom that was warm and content and comfortable; good food, a warm hearth, and like-minded folk to share one's time with. Home to Bilbo had and always would be the Shire.

'Always' had changed the day Gandalf came calling, and thirteen dwarves had raided his pantry. 

Bilbo had _hated_ his journey to start with. For all he had dreamed of seeing the world beyond the borders of the Shire, and to participate in some grand adventure, some destiny, far greater than himself. It all fell rather flat when one was soaked to the bone by heavy rain with nowhere to shelter, and was nursing cuts and bruises and aching tired muscles. Nobody had ever warned him of the inconvenience of not having decent clothes to change into, of a lack of food, and of potential danger at every turn. 

Certainly, nobody had ever warned him of noble dwarf kings with piercing eyes and a voice like rolling thunder and Bilbo felt that was rather unfair of them. 

As the quest unfolded, Bilbo found himself at first a little wary of, and then exasperated with their leader. For all Bilbo's books had spoke of heroes being daring, honourable, and handsome folk, they oft failed to mention descriptions of surly, stoic, stubborn, and blunt. 

It was only after the Goblin Tunnels and Thorin's heartfelt admission of having been wrong, coupled with perhaps the most wonderful embrace Bilbo had felt in many a year, that the hobbit began to see things a little differently. 

The weeks continued their march on towards Durin's Day, and Bilbo found contentment in the soft curl of lips in private smiles, comfort in emotive blue eyes and barely-there touches to hands and arms and shoulders. Bilbo found something blooming in his heart and a realisation settling in his stomach, and it terrified him and pulled him in all at once. 

At journey's end, Erebor was not the home Thorin had told him of. The place was a tomb a 'nasty clockless hole' as he had told Thorin himself in no uncertain terms. It was cold, dark, devoid of all life save their own once the dragon had been vanquished, and mounds of gold could not compare to soft feather beds, a good meal, or sunlit pastures. 

The tentative _something_ between he and Thorin was all but ruined by the sickness, and then the battle came and Bilbo feared they would never have an opportunity to make amends.

For once, Bilbo was glad to find his fears unfounded. 

Blue eyes opening to his and sincere, desperate apologies followed. Kisses were shared and promises made, and slowly, slowly Thorin and his nephews healed.

It was during the many days and nights spent in close company within Thorin's healing tent that Bilbo vowed to stay beside him until Erebor was restored to its' former glory. 

"You told me such tales of your home, Thorin. I daresay you owe me a proper tour of the place once it is more like you remember it."

Thorin could not confess that such an end might take years of work to achieve, and Bilbo did not seem inclined to inquire about such a trivial thing as time.

And so weeks turned to months, and with them went a laughing Gandalf; promising to take care of Bilbo's belongings and make arrangements for more important personal items to be transported to Erebor with the caravans travelling from Ered Luin. 

And despite Thorin's private fears that Bilbo might feel homesick enough to leave before Erebor was once again habitable, the hobbit continued to stay.

Some five years passed, and with industrious work and dedication, Erebor could finally be called a 'home' to dwarves once more. 

To dwarves and one hobbit it seemed. 

For despite a promise to stay until Erebor's completion, Bilbo did not leave even then.

The bonds rent by the ravages of dragon sickness had been repaired even more thoroughly than Erebor itself, and Bilbo had happily become consort to the King Under the Mountain. 

"I really don't think leaving is an option now, do you?" Bilbo had teased, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Thorin's neck one night following Thorin's wary questioning of Bilbo's continued presence within the mountain. "Unless of course you've grown weary of my company and would prefer to rule alone." 

Thorin's arms wrapped around him and lips pressed to his soon after had banished any possibility of such thoughts being true. 

And Bilbo had spoke the truth after all, to him leaving was no longer an option.

He marvelled at it really; how a place so far removed from the Shire both in physical distance and in comparison could be considered home to him now.

Thorin had not lied when his words painted pictures of vast, glowing hallways, and the sound of hammer fall. Now, with Erebor restored, Bilbo could experience it all and infinitely more as well. 

There was the murmur of voices night and day; uplifted in song or else talking of trade. There were the books and ancient carvings of legends past, so full of information and wondrous tales that often times Bilbo had to be reminded that life lay beyond the walls of the library. Mines there were to explore with Fíli, Kíli, Bofur, and Bifur; filled with precious gems, and darkness so absolute in places that it felt as if Bilbo were floating alone through the night sky. There was close friends he now considered family always nearby, and the change of the smells surrounding him from loamy earth to rain drenched stone was not such a bad substitution in Bilbo's opinion. 

The winters took a little getting used to he would admit, but then what good was having a dwarf husband if he could not be employed a personal heater every once in a while? 

Of all Erebor's glories, it was Thorin himself that Bilbo loved the most fiercely. He, and all the Company. They had done everything within their power to make Bilbo feel at home here, and for that Bilbo was eternally grateful.

One good example was the rooms he and Thorin now shared. 

For the longest time during the restoration, these rooms had been off limits, and Bilbo had wondered why.

Why did the king continue to sleep in a makeshift little room that the Company had long since vacated once their own places to live were rebuilt?

He had pondered the reason for a long time; wondering whether perhaps Thorin feared a return of the sickness and so was avoiding the place his grandfather once slept. On the other hand, maybe it was a form of self-flagellation; he would refuse all comforts and live with only the most basic needs met until he felt he could be trusted once more. 

It was neither, for which Bilbo was glad, because otherwise he would have had to lecture his dwarf on how these things were not his fault. He had already told Thorin this once before, and surely his words were trustworthy. 

Instead, Bilbo had been led to their rooms with some trepidation, and Thorin had revealed the reason it had taken so long for them to be able to stay there. 

Spearheaded by Thorin himself, he and the other dwarves had worked tirelessly to completely renovate the rooms. Rather than the stone and geometric dwarven decals Bilbo had expected to see, there was a wonderful marrying of architecture and designs. 

True, a lot of stone remained, it was only to be expected in a mountain after all. However, the rooms had been decorated with Bag End firmly in mind. Wood beams and panelling was used wherever possible, the windows had been changed to proper round hobbit windows, the colour schemes were warm and inviting, and the overall atmosphere exuded peace and comfort. 

Bilbo had been overcome with emotion, and simply launched himself at Thorin, peppering his face with kisses and murmuring muffled 'thank you-s' against lips, nose, and cheeks. 

(The rest of the Company had looked on happily, Dwalin insisting the hobbit 'better not bloody well try and thank me that way too. I'll settle for a good ale, thanks'). 

That hadn't been the only thing either. Bombur was always happy to attempt Shire recipes if Bilbo was feeling morose and missing home. Dori was forever inventing new cloth and styles that emulated Shire fashions whilst retaining some measure of dwarvish-ness to them. Ori would always find Bilbo the best Westron texts to read, whereas Balin snubbed tradition and diligently began teaching Bilbo Khuzdûl so that the hobbit would feel more included in court conversations. Nori would often filch little trinkets that had made their way from the west into Dale, and Bofur and the others always made certain that Bilbo had a friendly ear available if he needed it. 

Whoever had called dwarves insular and unsociable could not be more wrong, and Bilbo would defend their names vehemently to the end of his days and beyond. 

Bilbo smiled, content as he was now; curled up beside Thorin in front of their hearth, his head tucked beneath the dwarf's chin as they sleepily watched the flames dance and leap in the grate.

Their day had ended a short while ago; a busy affair of meetings and court functions. However, now they could revel in one another's company and spend the evening quietly in their rooms.

Bilbo snuggled closer, smiling into the fold of Thorin's tunic as he turned his head. He was happy, he decided as he felt a hand stroking his curls and an arm pull him into an embrace. _They_ were happy, and really what more could he ask for? 

Closing his eyes and sighing contentedly, Bilbo recalled that he had once thought that the Shire would always be home, and nowhere else could hope to contend. 

How wrong he had been. For Erebor, that kingdom of legend had inexplicably come to feel just as cosy and welcoming as any smial. In the end, for Bilbo the question was no longer merely about _where_ home was, but _who_ it could be as well. Home was definitely Erebor, but it was also wherever Thorin may be and home to Thorin was most assuredly with Bilbo.


	3. Braids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on ahiddenkitty's wonderful fanart of Thorin braiding the hair on Bilbo's feet. I decided to write a little ficlet to go with it for Fluffy Feb. Hope you like it, Kitty!

"I'm so sorry I don't think I quite heard you correctly, you want to braid my-" 

"-the hair on your feet, yes." 

"Thorin… forgive me asking something that clearly has an obvious answer to you, but… _why_?" 

Bilbo stood before his husband, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in an imitation of confused exasperation, but a fond smile has usurped his lips all the same. Ridiculous; his dwarf, his dearest beloved, was utterly and fathomlessly ridiculous. 

Braiding foot hair, what a notion! 

Why, if those living in the Shire ever heard of him partaking in such an outlandish thing- 

Well… he wasn't in the Shire any longer now, was he? So really, what did it matter? Those who would turn their noses up at him for doing something unusual were simply not worth the worry. He was in Erebor now, and married to a king besides. If he decided to let Thorin braid his foot hair, well then, everybody else would just have to make do and accept the fact. 

Before him, Thorin was looking just a little shy, eyes flicking to the floor even as he looked back up hopefully at Bilbo from beneath his lashes as he endeavoured to explain. "I made you some more beads…"

Thorin trailed off, his expression might have been more at home on a contrite child than a king of dwarves, and opened his palm to reveal his latest creations. Jade and citrine winked up at him, and Bilbo's bemusement melted into adoration. 

Jade for luck and protection; the versatile stone of prettily swirled blues and greens was rumoured to promote long life and encourage creativity amongst other things. Dwarves found it especially appealing due to its ability to sharpen and polish. Many an ornamental knife and axe head in Erebor were hewn from this particular stone. 

Citrine was the embodiment of the sun set into a physical form. To the dwarves it represented warmth and comfort, containing energizing properties. There were many among the dwarven healers (Óin included) who favoured the stone due to their belief that it could cleanse the mind and spirit; an excellent talisman against negative energy. 

Bilbo had learnt all this and more from his gemology lessons with Glóin and Kíli, and so knew that Thorin had put the utmost thought and care into every single item he gifted to Bilbo; the dwarf king had always preferred that his gifts carry significance to merely being appealing to the eye. 

Noting the joy that had swept over Bilbo's face at the sight of the beads, Thorin took a step closer. Slowly, almost reverently, he took one of the long braids hanging down by Bilbo's ear between his thumb and forefinger; lifting it to his lips to kiss. 

"You are my luck and my sunshine, Bilbo. I could not think of a better set of beads to gift to you, if you would accept them." 

"Of course I accept them, you daft thing." Bilbo huffed, turning his head a little to try and hide the warmth he could feel creeping up his neck and to his cheeks and ears. Thorin's winsome smile let Bilbo know that his flush had been noticed, however. "It really isn't fair that you manage to be so charming whilst proposing something so very odd."     

"Not at all odd, _‘ukrad_. You were kind enough to let me braid your hair." Thorin paused to gently card his fingers through the hobbit's curls; grown long after Bilbo decided he would like to fit in with Thorin and his kin. "And since you have no beard to speak of, I just wondered if you would like some braids upon your feet instead." 

Bilbo chuckled quietly, leaning into Thorin's touch as he continued to run his fingers through warm honey coloured locks. "You thought _I_ would like it?" his tone held an element of suspicion within, and Thorin grinned. His hobbit knew him far too well. 

"Very well, _I_ would like it. Surely by now you realise how much I adore braiding your hair for you," Thorin conceded.

"You say that as if it is a burden for me to bear you doing so." Bilbo's eyes had closed of their own volition, a silly smile growing as he grasped Thorin's wrist to still his hand, extricating it from his hair so he could nuzzle the palm and place a kiss there. 

Thorin's gaze grew soft, stroking his husband's cheek affectionately. His other hand was still fiddling with the beads, and he leant in to place a quick kiss upon Bilbo's brow before drawing attention to them once more. "If you would rather just use these for your hair, it is perfectly alright-"

"Oh enough of that, you've already won this argument and you know it." The hobbit laughed, reaching out to jab Thorin playfully at the waist as the dwarf huffed a laugh of his own and stepped back to offer the beads to Bilbo again. 

"Would you like me to braid them in now, or some other time?"

"Now is fine, thank you; I've nothing planned save a spot of light reading. I warn you now though; if I end up looking a fool and laughed out of court, you will be in serious trouble, Thorin Oakenshield," Bilbo warned, taking hold of Thorin's wrist and guiding him over to one of the chairs in their living room. 

"Aye, I'll expect a grand tongue lashing if you look even the least bit foolish, dearest." Thorin allowed with a patient smile, waiting whilst Bilbo settled himself in the chair; pillows at his back and legs swung over the arm rest as he picked up his book to read. 

As the dwarf settled himself comfortably upon the fur hearthrug so he could be on a level with Bilbo's feet, Thorin took a moment to admire his husband as he lost himself in the pages of his book. 

He was still the same fussy little thing that had tore after them so impetuously over five years ago now, but he was so much more than that too. A force to be reckoned with when working in tandem with his wily sister and wise Balin; Bilbo could probably run the kingdom alone if the need arose. Bilbo always stoutly argued that point, but that was Thorin's opinion on the matter anyway. 

When Bilbo had first decided to stay, Thorin had done everything within his power to make sure the hobbit felt at home and wanted for nothing. He had commissioned Dori to make him the finest clothes he could manage, taking references from Bilbo's travelling clothes to gain some idea of hobbit fashion. 

Bilbo had surprised them all though, by claiming he would like to 'look the part' as it were, and so the clothes were redesigned with something of a more dwarvish feel in mind. The hobbit had refused any and all footwear, that was a given, and no amount of wheedling from Thorin's concerned nephews ("Your poor toes will _freeze_ , Mister Boggins!"), or offers of finely knitted woollen socks from Ori would sway him. They had all since learnt that hobbit feet were near impervious to cold or rough ground, as if the journey to Erebor had not been enough to prove the point, and so the matter was dropped. Bilbo _had_ also insisted that his trousers be cut in a Shire fashion; short and just below the knee. However, apart from these caveats, the hobbit had adopted dwarven fashion with a joyous enthusiasm that had made Thorin's heart sing. 

Tunics and cloaks he had aplenty, all in colours ranging from Durin blue to warmer earthy tones that were a lovely blend of hobbit and dwarven tastes. Silks and brocades were willingly swapped to woollen blends, furs, and leathers; all of them somehow suiting a creature who had at first appeared too delicate for anything but the finest, softest cloth. 

Jewellery too was adopted; a mirroring of Thorin's style with etched ear cuffs, rings (both on fingers and toes), arm bands when the occasion called for it, and of course braid beads. Thorin took care with the colouring; mithril worked well naturally, the twinkling glint of the precious metal mimicking stars in the sky against his skin. Gold was a natural choice, given the hobbit's lovely hair... Thorin often shied away from making gifts from yellow gold though and would often resort to the warmer, kinder hues of rose gold or copper. 

Then of course, there was Bilbo's hair. Though the hobbit could never grow a beard (a revelation which had mildly surprised Thorin and his Company when first they heard of it), he could grow the hair on his head at speeds which seemed rather remarkable for an adult dwarf. Thorin often lamented that his beard would never attain the proper length of one of the Longbeard clan now he had reached a certain age, but Bilbo had assured him that he looked 'very fine' whether he grew it or not. 

Bilbo had delighted Thorin when he had stated his wish to grow his hair long like his husband and his friends'. The dwarf had spent many a happy hour designing different braids or else playing with the gorgeous hair in question; soft it was, and such a warm and inviting hue that Thorin found he could not keep his hands to himself when presented with a chance to comb or touch it. Bilbo liked to tease his husband by claiming he only loved him for his hair, but he was always quickly corrected when Thorin would lavish attention upon him in other ways. 

Now, brushing through the shorter curls on Bilbo's feet, Thorin hummed tunelessly in contentment. Bilbo pausing every so often in his reading in order to peer over the top of his book and see how the dwarf was progressing. 

Thorin was taking his time, naturally. He enjoyed spending time with Bilbo over almost anything else and usually tried to make the most of such occasions (ruling a kingdom together did sometimes have its drawbacks, a lack of free time being one of them). Bilbo did not complain over the attention Thorin was giving his feet; the idea still struck him as a little odd maybe, but endearing, and so the hobbit remained quiet; smiling happily, as he read. 

Eventually, Thorin must have come to a decision on what kinds of braids to use (Bilbo was still learning the intricacies and meanings of them), and began plaiting the hair in deft, practiced motions; not at all clumsy nor did he pull or tug the hair uncomfortably. A skill it was, born of long years of practice, and Bilbo really did enjoy having Thorin braid his hair for him, whether it be on his head or feet. 

After some time, Bilbo peeked over the top of his book once more, just to see Thorin with his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on finishing the braids and securing them with the beads. The hobbit stifled a giggle, going to duck back down behind his book when Thorin spoke. 

"There, done," the dwarf murmured, glancing up to offer Bilbo a loving grin. 

"How do they look?" Bilbo asked, eyes crinkling at the corners as he fondly noted his husband's pleased expression. 

"Lovely. I daresay if dwarves could grow hair on their feet as you do, you would start a new trend." 

Bilbo laughed at that, shaking his head in amusement. He had just begun to think of a clever retort, when Thorin stopped all thoughts whatsoever. Placing a hand beneath the sole of Bilbo's foot, Thorin ducked his head and placed warm lips to Bilbo's ankle, an action that had Bilbo squeaking and flushing to the roots of his hair. Strong and fairly lacking in feeling his feet may be, but his ankle was apparently an altogether different story. 

"Y-you're teasing," Bilbo accused, trying to recall what Thorin had said about his braids and setting trends. 

"Not at all, but then I am terribly biased. You are the most gorgeous creature in this kingdom or any other, in my opinion." 

Really now! There was only so much Bilbo could take. Cheeks flaming and laugh caught in his throat, Bilbo grabbed one of his pillows and threw it at his fool of a husband, eliciting a squawk of mock outrage from Thorin. 

"You doubt my words, Bilbo?" 

"No, not in the least. I just think you're a dreadful flirt and far too romantic for me to handle at this moment." Bilbo grinned, ducking and jumping out of his chair as Thorin returned the attack with a pillow of his own. 

" _Too_ romantic? I have done nothing to warrant such an accusation! If you wish for _too_ romantic let me show you!" 

Thorin was quick to pursue; chasing Bilbo once around the living room and then catching him up in an embrace which had Bilbo gasping for breath with the force of his laughter. 

Squirming, Bilbo flushed deeply as Thorin pressed kisses to the shell of his ear and nuzzled his curls. 

"That is cheating, darling," Bilbo accused, finally glancing down to get a good look at the braids on his feet. 

They actually did look rather nice, he thought, and so allowed Thorin a few more kisses. 

Thorin was only too happy to take them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘ukrad - greatest heart 
> 
> (As translated by the Dwarrow Scholar)


	4. Artistically Noteworthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taken from the 'imagine your OTP' prompt detailing how A is an author and B is an artist. They're the only two to arrive every day at 7am at the coffee shop, aaand things spiral from there with them both pining for the other.

Hot chocolate was the first discernible trait. He had expected the man to order coffee; rich and black with a bitter after-burn that few craved but many suffered through just to get a stronger kick of caffeine into their systems. Call it a writer's cliché, call him kitsch and affected by his own sense of grandeur in writing prose, but from the moment Bilbo had properly noticed the man, he had begun writing a story of his life within his own mind.

The man looked serious, almost dangerously so, and black coffee would have been ever so fitting. Instead, Bilbo found himself almost irritated by the man's gall in not fitting his archetype when he ordered that hot chocolate.

Warm, frothy hot chocolate complete with whipped cream and cinnamon… not what he had expected at all.

It had been seven am on a Wednesday when he had first noticed that man and his taste for sweet things; the day dawned grey and rainy as sleepy baristas took their orders… Clearly, those who worked around caffeine all day must become immune to its effects, he had thought wryly as the young woman serving tried to mask a huge yawn when she had brought over his own order.

Bilbo had set aside wonderings of the other man at the corner table and tried to return to his writing without much success.

 

* * *

 

The next trait had been blue eyes. The man's eyes were a reflection of the clear blue sky outside; bright and piercing, utterly captivating.

Bilbo had felt the man's gaze upon him whilst scribbling in his notebook and so looked up to be struck by such a disarming stare.

This time it was a Saturday, warm and sunny; the morning light slanting through the window and catching on the man's face in a way that was unfairly attractive (had the same light shone on him, Bilbo was fairly certain he would have just screwed up his face in an ugly squint whilst trying to dispel spots from his vision). Not this man though; he was all sharp and chiselled facial features and broad shoulders. The silver in his dark hair catching the sunlight and making it shine like something precious.

Bilbo spluttered slightly on his earl grey tea and hurriedly ducked his head to avoid those hypnotizing eyes.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo owned a laptop and a healthy distrust of the thing, owing to the one time it had frozen and subsequently lost a good two chapters' worth of story. Some might call him a technophobe, or pretentious; but Bilbo honestly preferred the simplicity of scribbling away in a notepad (with a fountain pen, please and thank you; he abhorred the way modern ballpoint pens wrote).

He knew deep down that using the laptop exclusively would probably make life a lot easier. But petty pride and the enmity earned from that one catastrophic crash always won out.

So here he was now, hunched over a tea-stained and crumpled stack of paper filled with his own plot ideas and character devices; trying valiantly to make sense of it all and transfer the words over to the accursed laptop so he could send it off to his editor.

Gandalf was frustratingly tolerant of technological progress, and would only tut and fuss if Bilbo dared to send him hand written work.

Mystery Man in the corner was there, as always… it seemed the two of them were the only pair crazy enough in town to arrive every morning for the seven am opening and stay through a good portion of the day fairly regularly.

Bilbo grumbled and scratched out a particularly trite turn of phrase in his mess of a 'book' and tapped his pen against his lower lip as he attempted to replace it with something more inspired.

No such luck!

The writer's block had begun about two months ago and had refused to let up since.

_Damnit all!  
_

Just for the purpose, Bilbo sent the handsome stranger a withering look (he didn't see it of course, his head was bowed as he worked on something himself), but it made Bilbo feel better anyway… for all of a minute. It really wasn't this gentleman's fault that he was writer blocked. He would love to have something easy to blame, but he knew that the man was not the cause of his problems. He had been sharing the same general space with the stranger for over a year and a half now, so he couldn't very well say the block had been caused by his presence given that it had only manifested so recently.

Giving up the paragraph he wished to re-write as a lost cause for now, Bilbo took a few minutes to simply watch the other man work instead (as surreptitiously as possible of course).

Bilbo could admit to himself that he wondered about this individual probably more often than was strictly proper. Fleeting thoughts of; what did he do for a living? Why did he like hot chocolate so much? What was his favourite song? Did he have a family?... a partner?

Bilbo frowned at the last thought and sunk down behind his open laptop to hide his blush. He didn't even know the man's name for goodness sake! He certainly shouldn't be thinking of such intrusive things… and why did he feel disappointed at the prospect of the man already being in a relationship?

Huffing softly, Bilbo went to order himself another drink; a caramel latte this time, and he dared not dwell on why he was suddenly craving something sweeter.

 

* * *

 

Gandalf was trying to drive him insane, he was sure of it!

When the meddling old coot had found out Bilbo was writer blocked, he actually tried to give _advice_ … why!? Why must he be tormented by an interfering editor as well as interfering relations?

Bilbo let his head fall onto the laptop keyboard with a dull thunk; melodramatic of course, but he felt he was allowed to be indulgent in times like this.

_"Force yourself to write, my boy! Write about everything and anything! All the world's a stage as they say. Write, and the words will come back to you, I just know it."_

Honestly…

Well, it didn't seem as if anything else was working, Bilbo admitted to himself grudgingly… so he might as well try it.

But what could he write about?

His eyes roamed lazily around the coffee shop, looking for anything, _anything_ that would pique his interest and spark inspiration.

His eyes fell on Mr. Tall Dark and Stoic scribbling away in the corner and Bilbo sighed… of course that was the only bloody thing to interest him right now.

_Poor bugger will probably think he has a creepy stalker at this rate… oh well. If worst comes to worst I can always pull the 'I'm not creepy I'm a writer' card… it usually derails most awkward questions._

And so, Bilbo wrote…

 

* * *

 

It was no real surprise how, now he spent more time watching the other man rather than trying to avoid his gaze, he learnt so much more about him.

Things like; how the man would tug on his lower lip or on one of the ornamental braids hanging down by his ears whenever he was thinking hard.

How he had a fondness for blues and earthy colours and leather jackets and boots.

How he had two rambunctious nephews that visited him at the coffee shop once or twice, and Bilbo had tried hard to ignore how his stomach had dropped unpleasantly when he thought they might be his own children (until they had called him uncle, and then Bilbo tried to ignore how relieved he had felt).

How those eyes of his were devastatingly handsome; warm and soft when he was happy, laughter lines at the corners and furrowed brows spoke of a life full of both joy and hardship.

How he was an artist… and how on Earth had Bilbo not noticed _that_ before!?

He worked hard, drawing, always drawing, in a thick sketchbook full of loose leaves of paper added in haphazard fashion; artist supplies strewn across the table and making the baristas roll their eyes at the chaos. However, he was a paying customer and apparently left generous tips, so they let him be.

And now Bilbo noticed how the charcoal smudged his hands, how a smear of it would usually end up along his cheek or brow, and how Bilbo longed to go and wipe it away-

Enough of that…

He noticed how the man would catch his tongue between his teeth whenever he was concentrating extra carefully on finer details in his artwork, and Bilbo wondered if it was legal for a man to look both so attractive and so adorable all at once.

And Bilbo wrote. He wrote pages upon pages about the mysterious man whom he had made up an entire life story for on the spot. He captured every nuance and detail in his story and prayed if this disaster ever became anything more than a practice in exorcising block demons, then the man before him would not recognise himself in written form.

 

* * *

 

Weeks passed and finally Bilbo could bear the nagging question no longer. He had written a life out for this man and had yet to even learn his name… and for whatever reason Bilbo denied to admit to himself, he needed to know it.

Just for closure… or something. He had to nip this silly crush in the bud before it stepped over the line to unsettling.

He was not sure what knowing the man's name would achieve, but maybe if he talked to him he would find out he was actually a horrible person or something and so Bilbo would be free.

Sighing, Bilbo took a fortifying sip of coffee before standing and walking stiffly over to where the man was seated, feeling at any moment like his courage may fail him and he would bolt.

The baristas were watching… and looking highly amused… especially that one with the odd droopy moustache… and that really wasn't helping matters at all.

Finally making it to the other man's table, Bilbo swallowed thickly and opened his mouth to speak… only for the oblivious artist to stand up suddenly, arms full of his work, and walk right into Bilbo.

Bilbo yelped and stumbled, the coffee still in his hand tipping and upsetting itself all down his shirt and cardigan… wonderful. The other man's work went scattering across the floor and Bilbo heard him curse.

"I am so sorry-"

"No, no I should have looked where I was-"

"Not at all, I was standing far too close and- oh dear your artwork please let me-"

"N-no, no don't!-"

Bilbo stopped; fingertips grazing the paper face up towards him… Bilbo's own face captured perfectly in charcoal stared up at him from it.

Bilbo felt a pleasant flutter in his chest but pushed it aside. The man was an artist, it's only natural he might try drawing folk around him… and Bilbo was there an awful lot-

The page next to it held his image also.

"Please, I… I'll just pick those up, you should probably go get that coffee cleaned off your shirt and-" the man was flustered, panicked, scrambling for the pages on the floor, cheeks dark in embarrassment.

Bilbo straightened and could only stare, mouth slightly agape. Every single picture. Every one of them… they were all of him.

Bilbo noticed from his peripheral vision every one of the baristas had abandoned work in favour of watching the scene unfold before them, not a one of them even attempting to be discreet. Moustache man was visibly leaning forward, palms pressed against the countertop and eyes wide as if he were watching an exciting sport and not two grown men making absolute fools of themselves.

"I- I hadn't wanted you to see them- you er… I promise I'm not trying to- oh hell!"

So while Bilbo had spent the last few weeks staring at this man and writing a life story for him… this man had been staring at Bilbo and capturing his life in art?

Bilbo actually laughed and the man before him winced, clutching the papers to his chest and making as if to leave, shame faced.

"Ah, no, please don't. I wasn't laughing at you I promise!" Bilbo had reflexively reached out and caught the man's forearm. They both stilled and looked down at the floor.

Bilbo could feel the warmth spreading from his cheeks and tips of his ears all the way down to his toes, and he smiled a little apprehensively.

"I was laughing because I think we might not be so different, you and I," he murmured.

Mystery man blinked in confusion and Bilbo elaborated. "You draw, I write… I have been writing about you for quite a few weeks now."

The man before him blinked again as realisation slowly came to him, and then he smiled; slow and bright, lips parted and Bilbo felt that swoop of warmth settle somewhere comfortably in his heart.

"I think we've both been a little foolish, but it's no bad thing really… my name's Bilbo and well… I was rather hoping to learn yours; it's why I came over here actually."

The man's smile widened, white teeth flashing in his dark beard, and he averted his gaze briefly, looking absurdly pleased. "Thorin, my name is Thorin… it's a pleasure to meet you properly at last."

The baristas were now chattering excitedly and thank goodness for their gossipy nature that it was still too early in the morning for anyone else but them to be there. They obviously would have hated to miss this show for anything as mundane as actually working!

Bilbo and Thorin were blissfully unaware of their nattering however, rather too focused on one another to realise they were the subject of such great interest.

"I'm sorry I made you spill your drink. Would you like to join me for a coffee?" Thorin asked, daring to hope.

Bilbo grinned, and boldly sat himself down at Thorin's table, nodding to his empty mug. "I think I'd prefer a hot chocolate."


	5. Stolen Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this is probably the most syrupy sweet ending to a fic I've ever written. If you end up with cavities I'm not being held responsible!

The first occurred shortly after leaving the Carrock and it was not so much a stolen kiss as an accidental kiss, but such minutiae could easily be ignored.

It seemed that Azog had sent a few of his scouts ahead some time before the incident outside the Goblin Tunnels. This meant that although they did not have to face the great white orc himself quite so soon after their last unpleasant meeting, there were a handful of his subordinates prowling the wilds and generally making their journey to Gandalf's friend's house all the more treacherous.

Their trail had been picked up a good few leagues from their destination, and at the eerie cry of wargs at their backs, Gandalf had urged them all to split up and hide, so as to help confuse their pursuers. None of them argued, all were still too battered from their time in the tunnels and the battle so soon after to try to pretend they would rather stand and fight.

Bilbo had run as fast as his feet could carry him, mildly surprised to find the dwarf king at his side, urging him onwards. Some way a way Bilbo could see Fíli and Kíli darting into a thicket, and further ahead Gandalf ushered young Ori up a tree whilst he ducked for cover behind a tumble of rock, staff held at the ready.

"We need to find somewhere to hide that is not too close to anyone else," Thorin grumbled, a hand pressed to his side as he forced himself on; his wounds must be bothering him.

Bilbo thought with a thrill of giddy hysterics threatening to spill from his lips, that this was rather like a game he used to play as a faunt in the Shire, albeit a great deal more deadly.

He had always been good at the game, often outlasting the other fauntlings with his superior hiding places and naturally quiet manner.

_Let us hope I'm still as good as I used to be._

Off to his right, Bilbo spied a formation of rocks; an overhang or small cave of sorts, and casting propriety aside, he grabbed Thorin's wrist firmly, tugging him in the direction of the promising looking hiding place.

Somewhere in the distance, wargs howled again and orcs hooted, feral and chilling.

Pushing himself to run all the faster, Bilbo guided an exhausted looking Thorin up to the cave, and ushered him inside, before squeezing in himself.

It was a little bit smaller than he had anticipated unfortunately.

The pair of them had shuffled sideways as far back into the crevice as they could manage, and though gratified to find that they would be completely hidden from anything skulking about outside, they realised quite quickly that they could barely move in their hideaway.

Bilbo was mortified to find that they were facing one another, bellies and thighs all but pressed together, the distance restricted further with every ragged breath taken.

"A decent place to hide this is, well spotted, Master Baggins… a pity there is not more space however." Thorin's voice was barely audible, quiet and cautious lest they attract those who hunted them.

"Forgive me that transgression, Your Majesty. Perhaps next time we can run all the way to a comfortable little inn and that might be more to your tastes." Bilbo knew that in reality he was being rather unfair with his grumbled remark. Honestly though, he was exhausted, suffering a few minor injuries of his own, and running for his life _yet again_ having had no sleep and very little food. So if Thorin Oakenshield was going to pinch and carp about the size of a _hiding place_ then-

"Peace, Master Hobbit, I was merely making an observation, not berating your good work."

Well then… at least that was something. Their mighty leader _could_ see reason on occasion it seemed.

Bilbo offered him a small smile, unsure if Thorin would even be able to see it in the gloom of their hiding place, and awkwardly attempted to make himself more comfortable. There was rock jabbing at him uncomfortably at his back and calf.

Hands braced on the stone either side of him, Thorin huffed and shook his head, moving one hand to Bilbo's shoulder to still his squirming. "No good, we won’t be finding comfort here, Bilbo. We had best just stay as we are until the wizard calls us, we should remain quiet now too; no chatter," then as a gentle afterthought he added, "please."

The polite and quiet tone of that deep voice prevented Bilbo from making any further complaints, and so Bilbo attempted to relax as best he could, despite their uncomfortable proximity to one another.

How long they remained within their hiding place, Bilbo could not say. He could hear nothing from outside; not warg or orc, or worse still any cries for help from their companions. So after a time he dared to hope that maybe the warg scouts and their orcs had become tired of tracking multiple scents and simply given up for the time being.

It was just a little difficult to concentrate on anything other than Thorin either, given how close he was, and though Bilbo mentally chastised himself for such thoughts; the hobbit could not help but notice certain things. The warmth of Thorin's skin, the cool tickle of sweat damp hair falling around them like a curtain, the way the dwarf's breath stirred his curls and ghosted over his ear and neck.

How, if Bilbo so chose (and quite possibly had a death wish), he could slide his hands between them to rest palms against Thorin's chest, tilt his chin and-

A voice was calling from outside the cave. Both dwarf and hobbit started and tensed like rabbits in sight of a fox, and Bilbo felt Thorin's hand travel reflexively to the hilt of Orcrist at his hip.

Bilbo closed his eyes, reassuring fingers grazing Thorin's to prevent him from doing anything abysmally foolish, and listened carefully, ears twitching.

That was no orc.

Sighing, Bilbo felt nearly boneless with relief, and boldly gave Thorin's hand a quick squeeze before nodding towards the entrance of their hiding place. "It's Gandalf. He is calling for us to come out. The orcs have gone."

"Thank goodness." Thorin ducked his head with a sigh of his own, lips parted in a small grin as he confided quietly. "Without some rest and a bit of time to let these wounds heal, I strongly doubt I would survive another fight quite so soon after the other."

Bilbo swallowed, eyes widening in surprise at the admission. Surely, dwarves never admitted to feeling weakness… he had never seen or heard of one doing so before, so for Thorin to do so now…

"Balderdash, you'd come out victorious as you always do." Bilbo tried to encourage, and Thorin chuckled, but it was a slightly self-depreciating sound.

Not wishing to explore the topic further, Bilbo began to squirm again, attempting to wriggle towards the entrance of the cave. "Come along then, let's get out of here before they all think we were eaten or someth-"

He had misjudged his movements rather horribly, and in pushing himself up onto his toes to try to navigate his way free of the press of Thorin's body, he had inadvertently brought himself at the perfect height for their noses to brush one another and lips to press firmly.

Oh dear…

Both stared, eyes wide, and seemed trapped in the moment for longer than was probably wise.

It was only when Thorin parted his lips slightly and seemed willing to press back a little in return that Bilbo finally came to his senses and pulled himself away. Tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously, and oh, he should not have done that because Thorin's gaze flicked down to his mouth again and Bilbo was entirely unprepared for the wave of hot embarrassment that washed through his body.

"Right- so er… yes, let's go and join the others shall we?"

With some more awkward shuffling the pair was able to crab-walk to the entrance and finally emerge into daylight to the relieved cries of their Company.

"Took you long enough, didn' it?" Dwalin groused.

"I apologise for the inconvenience, as you can see it was a little difficult to get out of there." Thorin glowered at his shield brother.

"Aye, looks mighty cosy." This was from Bofur, the dwarf grinning far too broadly for the remark to be considered anything but salacious.

Bilbo spluttered and shot his friend a dark look, the action mirrored by Thorin, and Bofur backed away, hands raised in supplication but still grinning.

"Where are the orc filth now?" Thorin bit out, eager to change the topic and Ori answered promptly. Clearly, his vantage point in the tree had been useful.

"They skulked about for a bit, trying to smell us out, but as Gandalf predicted the trails were too numerous and they soon got bored of trying… not the most faithful of followers by the look of things. They headed back the way they came; I expect they're going to rejoin Azog."

Thorin nodded at the scribe and once again took command, ordering the Company on in hopes they could reach Gandalf's friend before the pack caught up with them once more.

"Oh aye, would be a real shame if you and the burglar had to snuggle up close in a cave together again any time soon. Seems like you thought it a real hardship." Bilbo often wondered if Bofur would dare speak this way to Thorin once he was properly crowned… and if so how long before someone would have him exiled from Erebor.

The hobbit tried his utmost not to blush whilst Thorin swore at the cheeky miner in Khuzdûl. Gandalf was chortling merrily nearby, and Bilbo pushed aside the foolish thought that the look Thorin sent his way some time after seemed to be a wistful one.

 

* * *

 

The second kiss was in Beorn's garden not two days later. And this time Bilbo could confidently say it was fine practice for his burglary skills.

Thorin had needed a little more medical attention than he had been willing to admit to on the way there, his condition not at all helped by their mad dash from the Carrock to Beorn's.

Óin had patched him up with a little more help from Gandalf and a healthier supply of healing salves courtesy of Beorn himself, and then shooed the king into the gardens to rest.

" _Rest_ mind you. If I find out you've been sparring with Dwalin or chasin' about those fool nephews of yours I'll add a few more lumps to the ones you've already got."

Bilbo was not much for royalty and all that nonsense, but weren't they supposed to be a bit more respectful towards Thorin? The folk in all the stories he had read were at any rate.

Bilbo asked Gandalf that very question, and had felt rather offended when the wizard nearly choked on his pipe smoke through laughing.

"Dwarves are not so stern in their dealings with royalty as men are, Bilbo."

And Óin, who had a remarkable capacity for hearing what he wanted despite his apparent deafness, added, "Aye, and since I've known the lad since he was a scrap of a dwarfling hollerin' for sweets whenever I patched up his scrapes, I think it's my prerogative to boss him around a bit now."

Bilbo shook his head, quite amused at the mental image conjured of a very young Thorin trying to be imperious in his demands for sweets but only succeeding in coming across as a royal brat.

Óin was looking at Bilbo side long, and the hobbit began to feel a little uncomfortable, before the old healer carefully said. "He will try and overwork himself, I know him too well. Since we're off through Mirkwood in a few days that would be a bad idea. Don't s'pose you'd do an old dwarf a favour and go keep an eye on him, would you, laddie? Just make sure he doesn't try and do himself a mischief."

"Oh, well I-" Bilbo fumbled for an excuse but could not find one, and sighing heavily, gave Óin a quick nod. "Alright, yes. I'll go keep an eye on him."

"Wonderful!" Óin clapped him on the back hard enough to pitch Bilbo forward, and then went to go join his brother over at the breakfast table leaving the hobbit rubbing his now sore shoulder.

Keeping an eye on a stubborn dwarf king was surprisingly easier than he had expected. Bilbo had only just stepped outside into the garden when he found Thorin sprawled on the grass, arms pillowing his head as he slept.

Some distance away Fíli and Kíli were likely up to trouble, but their voices were quiet out of respect for their uncle, and Bilbo merely offered them a quick smile before settling himself beside Thorin.

Lying back in the grass beside their leader, Bilbo smiled up at the sky, sun warming his face as he closed his eyes.

Now if only the rest of their quest could be like this. He'd take dwarf king watching over dragon slaying any day.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo had not intended to fall asleep, but sleep he had. Warmed by the sun and lulled by the comforting presence of Thorin; Bilbo had drifted off and only woke when the evening chorus of birds began in the trees surrounding Beorn's home.

He sat up quickly, turning to check that Thorin had not wandered off, and was relieved to find that the dwarf was still beside him, snoring softly.

Well at least he had not failed Óin then.

Looking about him, Bilbo found that the rest of the dwarves had retired inside, and that he and Thorin were the only ones in the garden now.

It was nice, Bilbo decided, spending a peaceful time with the leader of their Company. No danger or stress for this small moment…

Bilbo glanced down at him and smiled softly.

Thorin was noble, the hobbit thought firmly to himself. Just and honourable and almost stupidly brave.

Handsome too…

The breath caught in Bilbo's throat and he shuffled where he sat, trying to ignore the thought that had come to him unbidden.

They were on a perilous quest and developing romantic feelings for another was probably the most ill advised thing he could do.

Still…

Bilbo was almost certain he had not imagined it. Back in the cave, when his lips had accidentally brushed Thorin's, the dwarf had pressed back almost as if…

Bilbo nibbled his lower lip apprehensively and cast another quick look about him.

Just one then… just this once and then he would never again think such foolish things.

Leaning over Thorin, Bilbo gently pressed his lips to the healing cut at the dwarf's forehead and, before he could think anything further of his actions, brushed his lips over Thorin's own as well.

When Bilbo stood and made a hasty departure inside, filled with self recrimination for his possibly unwanted actions, the hobbit failed to notice that Thorin had woken and was watching his retreating back with something akin to wonder and longing.

 

* * *

 

There was not much cause for kisses stolen or otherwise following their departure from Beorn's. What with the unpleasantness of Mirkwood, coupled with the spider attack _and_ their subsequent capture by the elves, any such notion of kisses was almost laughable.

But a kiss was stolen all the same.

A soft promise passed from the hobbit to the dwarf that he _would_ release them, and Bilbo found warm lips against his knuckles to be incredibly charming.

 

* * *

 

A harrowing barrel ride proved near deadly, and Thorin's head was still spinning from it when he was hauled out of the barrel by their burglar and Thorin felt a kiss placed sloppily against his cheek.

 

* * *

 

Shivers wracked Bilbo's frame as he recovered from the cold the river had so kindly gifted him with so close to their goal and he fretted and worried and pleaded with Thorin to carry on without him if need be.

He was told in no uncertain terms that he would not be left behind, that he was important.

Bilbo had scoffed and rasped jokingly that it was only his value as a burglar they needed, not his company.

A kiss against a fevered forehead might have been a dream, or it might have been real; Bilbo could not say. Though his last thoughts before he drifted off to sleep again was that Thorin looked lovely when he blushed.

 

* * *

 

Stolen kisses were not meant to be once they reached the mountain. Dragon sickness put paid to that.

Or so Bilbo had thought. Until he showed Thorin that acorn and the way he tried to drag Thorin back from the throes of his sickness through kind words and warm lips were all for naught when Dwalin interrupted to tell them Laketown survivors had arrived.

 

* * *

 

All spiralled out of control then; the betrayal of the Arkenstone, Thorin's wrath, the battle, and the aftermath.

There were no kisses for what seemed to be a very long time, and Bilbo was so fraught with worry that he found he could not care if Thorin hated him for all his days after this just so long as he and his nephews survived.

 

* * *

 

The next kisses were not ones stolen, but those gifted and cherished in equal measure as apologies and forgiveness were murmured quietly between breaths and touching lips.

More promises given; promises of love and to 'never ever do that again' and Thorin mumbled a quiet confession against Bilbo's lips, "I'm still too greedy, even after all you have endured I wish for you to stay with me, but my heart knows you should return home."

"This greed is the kind you need not fear or apologise for, Thorin. I want to stay; home would not be the same without you."

 

* * *

 

 

Healing took time, and even more time was needed to return Erebor to something of its former glory, but so long as they had one another and their friends, it was a joy more than a trial.

Kisses were given and stolen aplenty once Thorin was healed. A sight which had Thorin's nephews both whooping with joy and despairing of their 'sappy uncles'.

Kisses to cheeks and foreheads, as they left one another's company in the morning to aid with the restoration, kisses to hands and ears as they passed one another in the hallways. Lips nuzzled into hair and into the crooks of necks as they curled together reading or eating or relaxing after a long day, and kisses to lips. Many, many kisses to lips that neither felt they would ever tire of: quick and chaste or slow and languid. Passionate, silly and laughing, any kiss they could bestow they took and treasured and considered each and every one a blessing.

Stolen kisses were no longer needed after a time; for every kiss thereafter was given freely and with as much joy as two hearts could contain.


	6. Reading Aloud

Dwarves were well known for being hardy folk. True, their resilience was sometimes overshadowed by the elves' claim to near immortality, but for the most part a dwarf's constitution could put those of other races to shame. They lived a great deal longer than men or hobbits, could arguably endure more pain than orcs or goblins, and as for ill health; this was something they very rarely suffered from. 

It was often said that if a dwarf did not die on the battlefield, they would likely live in good health until they were several centuries old. 

And Bilbo could well believe it. After all, his friends in the Company had been ever so worried when he had fallen sick in Laketown, a couple of them having never even witnessed a cold first hand. 

So imagine then their panic when Bilbo fell ill once more just mere months after the retaking of Erebor. 

It was another cold (which was only to be expected given their environment and the lack of amenities available to them at present). Both Óin and Tauriel had tried to reassure them all that it was not an uncommon occurrence in other races for them to suffer a couple of separate bouts of illness in such a close space of time. However, there were still concerned looks shared between the other dwarves in Thorin's Company, and in true dwarven fashion, they decided the best way to deal with the situation was to spoil their burglar hobbit something rotten. 

It had been pleasant at first, Bilbo admitted to himself as he blew his nose noisily on a handkerchief (a gift from Dori). Having those gruff and bluster fellows who had made no effort to hide their distrust in him when they first met now fussing about him like a brood of clucking hens was rather endearing. However, Bilbo was a rather insular creature by nature, and it would take him some time to become more accustomed to the dwarves' openly emotional ways, and so after a couple of days their overly cautious and gentle attempts to help him, their clucking and fretting, Bilbo had had quite enough. 

He had a _cold_ for goodness sake! He was unlikely to drop dead at any given moment. He could admit that it was vexing to have another cold quite so soon after the first, but resigned himself to the fact that it was probably unavoidable in the mountains, and was vindicated by Óin and Tauriel's agreement. 

So now, Bilbo had holed himself up in the rooms he shared with Thorin and was refusing to come out until he either was well enough not to be mothered by the dwarves, or else someone put a stop to their nonsense. 

"They won't leave you be, you know. You will just have to accept their fussing with hobbitish good grace until you are recovered." Thorin, Bilbo thought with a scowl, was finding his pitiable situation far too amusing. 

Case in point, the daft fool was grinning at him from his desk where he sat working methodically through various treaties. 

They had learnt over the past few months, that they had a near uncanny ability to know what the other was thinking at times, it was a skill which Kíli claimed 'bordered on the supernatural and I'm starting to worry we might have some sort of helplessly in love demons as uncles here, Fee'. As such, Bilbo had hardly been surprised when Thorin picked up on his sulky mood and correctly guessed the cause for it. 

"You could tell them not to," Bilbo mumbled quietly, voice thick and nasally, and his throat still sore despite the copious amounts of honey infused tea Tauriel had supplied him with. 

"Now where would be the fun in that?" The grin, if possible, grew larger, and Bilbo's scowl darkened into an outright glower. "I'm sorry to say it makes for far too humorous an entertainment to watch you try and fend them off to ask them to stop now." 

"So glad I can be a source of amusement for you, Your Majesty. Should I change my official role from consort to court jester?" 

"I'd rather you not." Thorin's voice softened in something like an apology and he tempered his amused grin into a slightly more forgiving smile. "Please do forgive us, Bilbo. We only wish to make you feel better." 

"Oh, I know," Bilbo huffed, sniffling into the handkerchief again. "I've just never liked much of a fuss when I'm ill. Never did even as a fauntling. Da used to near smother me with attention when I got sick, and Mum always had to fend him off." 

Thorin chuckled, setting aside his quill and turning in his seat to face Bilbo properly. "And the fuss given by our friends is rather too much like that to bear I imagine?"

"Just a bit, yes." 

"And would you rather I stop my fussing over you as well?" 

Bilbo gave Thorin an appraising look before shaking his head and worming down further into his mound of blankets. "No, I think I can suffer your mothering well enough." 

"Ah, well then, if you can 'suffer it' I need not stop." Thorin's lips quirked in amusement again and he finally left his desk to sit beside the fevered and slightly delirious hobbit. "It's a wonder, feeling as bad as you do, that you still keep your sharp mind and tongue." 

"Know this," Bilbo rasped with just a touch of melodrama. "Should I ever cease to tease you, then you may worry." 

Heedless of the risk (small as it was) of falling ill himself, Thorin leant down and nuzzled his lips into sweat soaked curls before moving to check that Bilbo had enough water, was not hungry, and had taken the medicine Óin had left for him. 

Bilbo snickered at this proof of Thorin's own agitation and caught his hand as he went to place a cool cloth against Bilbo's forehead. "I daresay you're better at this than any of the others… except perhaps Óin. Do not let them know though; they'll only sulk over it." 

"I'm pleased to know I'm of some use." 

" _Some_ use he says," Bilbo muttered to himself. "A king of dwarves and he's merely happy he's of _some_ use… Should you not be dealing with more important matters than attending to a sick hobbit husband?" 

"None more important than this, they can wait." Thorin resolved, bussing another kiss to the top of Bilbo's head.

"Don't try and be all charming… well if you really don't have anything of import to get on with, I suppose you could keep me company." 

Thorin beamed, it had taken far less persuasion than he thought for Bilbo to let him stay and look after him. Either the fever was higher than he thought, or they were making progress. Bilbo had always been quick to tell Thorin to let him help with any problem or hurt, but was always less amiable to receiving help in return. 

Placing the cloth back on the nightstand, Thorin finally noticed the book there; picking it up to leaf through it absently, "What is this?" 

"Oh," Bilbo's eyes opened again and he smiled up at the dwarf. "Just a book of tales Ori sent me from the library. He thought I might like something to pass the time whilst I'm cooped up in here… unfortunately I cannot really focus on the words at the moment… maybe when my fever goes down." 

"I could read it to you, if you'd like me to." Thorin thumbed through the book until pausing at one of his favourite tales from when he was but a dwarfling, and settled himself more comfortably at Bilbo's side whilst he awaited the answer he knew would come. 

"Well… if it's not too much of an imposition… and you really do not have any pressing matters to attend to-" Bilbo tried to keep his tone neutral, but the hopefulness underlying it was all too apparent. 

Thorin was already removing his cloak and circlet, his boots long since abandoned by the door (a rule Bilbo was steadfast in making sure he hold to; no boots in their rooms), and so made himself quite at home beneath the coverlet beside the hobbit, sat up and leaning against the headboard. 

"Very well, let's see… I always enjoyed this one..." and thus Thorin began. His words weaving the tale with more skill than Bilbo had thought possible of a king and warrior. Then again, this was Thorin, and his dwarf had always held hidden qualities. 

Bilbo smiled tiredly, snuggling down and closing his eyes, allowing the deep, rolling timbre of Thorin's voice to wash over him as he told tales of heroic dwarves from days gone by. His voice utterly ensnaring the hobbit and painting pictures so vivid his fevered mind felt he might actually be there within the story itself. 

Bilbo hummed contentedly, somehow feeling better already, and was lulled to sleep between one story and the next.


	7. Beauty in Simplicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From alkjira's prompt: 
> 
> Okay, so what I want now is a first time fic with a first time kiss that happens just in the middle of something really mundane.  
> Like paperwork. Thorin is doing kingly paperwork and Bilbo is just being a good friend and keeping him company (probably reading a book or something) making tea for them both, and as he trots over to set Thorin’s cup by his elbow he has a moment of divine inspiration or something like it.  
> He knew Thorin was handsome, he knew he loved Thorin, but he had no idea he was in love with Thorin. But he is.  
> And then Thorin looks up at Bilbo and smiles warmly, opens his mouth to thank him for the tea, and Bilbo leans down and kisses him.  
> The tea goes cold.
> 
> Enjoy, dear!

It was not something that Bilbo would readily admit to, but underneath his pragmatic and sensible Baggins exterior, beat a heart as romantic and fanciful as any young Took or Brandybuck tween in the Shire.

He kept this side of him a closely guarded secret. A part of him afraid that should his wistful thoughts and deepest desires become common knowledge, that he would invite upon him ridicule and bewildered derision.

So it was, that whilst he had been Master Baggins of Bag End; Bilbo had outwardly scoffed at such notions of deepest love found in a moment, while all the while penning his secret hopes of finding such contentment himself in the form of poetry, song, and stories.

It was but a capricious wondering, and Bilbo did not ever let it consume him, but still, he thought of it fairly regularly… until a certain wizard came knocking on his door, and any long held fancies he'd held of finding love were rather rightly replaced with the simple wish to survive a perilous quest.

So buried, Bilbo's secret romantic heart lay dormant in an impromptu hibernation of sorts. Until the day dawned that Erebor was reclaimed, Thorin, and his nephews were healed, and once again, all seemed right in the world.

 

* * *

 

Peace reigned not only outside the thick, safe walls of the mountain, but within as well. Especially, it seemed within the very bower of a certain dwarf king.

At this moment in time, Bilbo Baggins, late of the Shire and now dwarf-friend of Erebor, could think of nowhere else he would rather be.

A good two years had passed since the battle, and Erebor and Dale were both well on the way to being fully restored. Such was the marvellous and tireless work of all those present. Aid came but a little grudgingly from Mirkwood (now the Greenwood once more), any resistance soothed by the combined efforts of Tauriel, Kíli, and surprisingly, the elvish prince, Legolas. The former residents of Laketown had taken up the reconstruction of Dale with gusto, and the dwarves had become more than willing to help in both rebuilding the fallen city, and restoring Erebor to its former glory… They received new caravans of dwarves regularly now, after all.

Bilbo had of course had his affairs settled in the Shire with help from a certain meddling wizard, and many of the belongings he could not bear to be permanently parted from had arrived in a caravan along with Thorin's sister, Dís and many others from Ered Luin.

It had been this moment whereupon Bilbo stated his intention to stay in Erebor for good, and to his surprise, the king had been so happy he had actually picked Bilbo up, swinging him around before enveloping him in a tight hug.

Bilbo had not quite known what to make of this and so had simply hugged back in gratitude… However, a small spark of _something_ had taken hold then, and the catch of flame in his heart warmed him enough to leave him wondering.

He found though, that there was little time to dwell on such feelings, as Thorin seemed to wish to include Bilbo in as many court functions as he could possibly talk the hobbit into.

Bilbo personally felt that Dís would be a better candidate for this, but she had simply laughed, and told the hobbit in no uncertain terms that she had enough work to get along with herself, and that it would do Bilbo good to be as involved as the other members of the Company… Bilbo was not quite sure what to make of that either.

Therefore, Bilbo had set aside such distracting thoughts, and instead concentrated on the tasks Thorin asked of him, more than happy to help his friend in the unfamiliar forays of ruling a kingdom.

Thorin's rooms, Bilbo thought, were probably the loveliest in the mountain. They were not grand, not at all. Following the dragon sickness, Thorin had denied himself any tawdry trappings or unneeded luxuries. His rooms, for lack of a better word, were decidedly hobbitish to Bilbo's eye.

Although the rooms had been hewn into the very mountain, they were not cold in the slightest. This was due in part to the vast forges and ingenious piping system the dwarves devised to keep their cool habitat comfortably warm year round, but more than that, it was the furnishings Thorin had chosen for himself.

Plush armchairs and couches and a large four poster bed, all had coverings and cushions that were soft to the touch and rich, warm, or earthy in colour. Where Bilbo had expected expensive, polished stone to be used for tables, formal chairs, and other furniture; Thorin had commissioned that they be made of wood (oak, Bilbo thought with a small smile). Rugs were set upon the floor to soften it underfoot, drapes hung at the walls to cover the starkness of the stone, light was well implemented, and fires crackled in hearths to cast every room in a cheery glow.

The small kitchen off from the main living area was always well stocked and homey, the ingredients he had seen Thorin using were plain but good, and so put less strain on the folk working down in the kitchens since they need not wait on the king. Bilbo could easily tell that although everything within Thorin's rooms were well made and looked lovely; the cost to decorate his own little corner of the mountain thusly had been far cheaper than anywhere else.

All it needed was a proper garden, Bilbo thought with fond good humour, and it would be like a hobbit hole in the sky.

Bilbo hummed a tune Fíli had been teaching him recently as he let the tea-leaves steep in the pot. It was early evening and the King Under the Mountain had invited Bilbo up to his rooms in order to have some company while he worked on the paperwork detailing the finer points of the share of treasure the various guilds required this year.

Bilbo was only too happy to keep his friend company. However, he could not help but suspect that Thorin's true purpose for calling him hence was probably to try to wheedle Bilbo into doing some of the paperwork for him, crafty thing that he was.

"You're not at all subtle, you know," Bilbo called out from the kitchen as he placed mugs, teapot, and a plate of biscuits on a tray. "I can see right through your subterfuge, Thorin."

"Hm, and what subterfuge might that be?" Thorin's voice was endearingly distracted as he pored over various treaties and stacks of accounts.

"You calling me here is all a ruse to get me to do work for you," Bilbo teased as he stepped out of the kitchen and approached the dwarf at his desk.

"Do you think so little of my overtures of friendship that you would accuse me of something so crass?" Thorin affected a look of deep hurt on his face as he looked up from his paperwork to meet Bilbo's gaze, causing the hobbit to laugh.

"Not at all, Thorin. However, I know two young lads who have tried every trick in the book to get out of helping Balin this past week, and I do not believe their uncle is above such trickery should he feel so inclined."

"And what terrible dwarves they must be, certainly no relation of mine." Thorin sniffed imperiously, pretending not to know of whom Bilbo spoke.

"I'm speaking of your own nephews, you dolt," Bilbo laughed again, setting the tray beside Thorin's elbow and swatting his shoulder.

"Ah, well, with a mother like Dís, 'tis only to be expected of them."

"I'm telling her you said that."

"Please don't, I'd hate to be banished to the mines and have her usurp the throne." Thorin paused, blinked, and then amended his plea. "Actually, yes, do tell her. She can take the crown, finish this for me, and I will be free."

Bilbo was still chortling as he took a seat beside his friend (and who back in the Shire would ever believe that? A hobbit, friendly with a king and able to joke with him just as close friends and family might). Grimacing as he noticed the papers stacked high enough to reach his chin; Bilbo dutifully picked up a quill of his own with a small stack of paperwork and began to work without complaint.

They worked in companionable silence for a good deal of time, the tea beginning to cool, before Bilbo chanced a look at the dwarf beside him.

So many trials they had been through, and he was so very glad they had remained good friends. For a while after the battle, things had been a little tentative between them; both parties fearing that the other might not have forgiven them for their past transgressions. The guilt and the wariness eased over the course of a couple of months however, and soon Bilbo had found that Thorin could be as dear a friend as any in the Company. As quick as any of them to laugh and joke when the weight of a dragon and a kingdom to reclaim was not weighing upon his shoulders, and loyal and true to a fault as all dwarves seemed wont to be.

Thorin was gilded in the firelight; the glow of it catching his dark hair and making the silver strands threaded throughout shine like mithril. His face was a picture of serene concentration; brows slightly furrowed as he pulled at his lower lip in thought, expressive blue eyes darting from this line of text to that as he carefully studied the reports. Colour high in his cheeks from the warmth of the fire, strong nose, angular jaw, even the thin scar now bisecting his eyebrow all seemed to complement him perfectly and transform his features into something noble and entirely too handsome.

And that was when it chose to wake; the sleeping thing in Bilbo's heart stirring at the sight of Thorin like this and the warm banter that had passed between them… and oh, Bilbo was in a great deal of trouble now.

"More tea I think," Bilbo mumbled, ducking his head to hide his expression lest Thorin see and somehow divine his thoughts.

The hobbit gathered up their tea things and returned to the kitchen to refill the pot, heart thudding in his chest. What had that been? Why had he looked at Thorin and suddenly-

No, no it was nothing. Just him being silly and jumping to foolish conclusions that was all. He loved Thorin as a friend, and in a moment of confusion he had muddled friendship with romantic love, there was nothing else to it.

Busying himself with making the tea, Bilbo pushed all such thoughts from his mind, and almost felt entirely normal by the time he returned to Thorin's side.

At least that is what he had told himself.

Bilbo smiled as he set the gently steaming cup at Thorin's elbow once more, and Thorin tore his eyes away from his work in order to look up at Bilbo standing there and thank him. Eyes gentle and lips parted in a soft smile, Bilbo was lost.

This was not friendship, Bilbo thought with a surety that was both encouraging and terrifying all at once.

And when Thorin opened his mouth to thank Bilbo for the tea, or possibly to enquire why Bilbo was staring so; Bilbo threw caution to the wind and leant down, catching Thorin's lips in a kiss.

For one heart stopping moment Bilbo feared he might be pushed away; that Thorin might take offence, reject him, and ask him to leave.

He need not have worried about such an outcome.

Thorin gasped into Bilbo's mouth, surprise writ on his features for but a moment, before he was cupping Bilbo's cheek and kissing back tenderly.

Bilbo's eyes fluttered closed and he uttered a soft, happy sigh. Lips melded together perfectly and hands gently trailed through hair and along skin.

After long moments, Bilbo pulled away; leaning over in such a fashion was beginning to cause a twinge in his lower back. He pecked a quick kiss to Thorin's cheek and smiled at him, eyes alight with happiness as he confessed what they both now knew. "I- I am sorry that was so sudden but- well… I think I may have just come to the conclusion that I'm in love with you."

Thorin laughed at the words, tugging at Bilbo until he was seated on his lap. "That's good to know, because I think I may have come to that conclusion as well."

"When?" Bilbo was startled. "Just now as well or-"

"Some time ago actually, but I did not wish to press you."

"So… is that why your rooms look as if you spirited Bag End halfway across the world?" Bilbo accused, though humour was present in his tone.

"Hm, something like that… though I did like the way your house was decorated regardless." Thorin had slipped his arms about Bilbo's waist and was now affectionately nosing at Bilbo's curls.

Nothing else really needed to be said after that. Bilbo had often read that finding love was like fireworks or a grand epiphany; it was as all consuming as a forest fire and as bright as a star.

Bilbo found that it was none of those things. It had been a simple matter, falling in love with Thorin. As natural and as easy as drawing breath. Love between them did not need to be as bright as starlight or as passionate as fire; it was instead a gentle embrace, as warm and comforting as reading a favourite book again or as familiar as curling up in bed after a long day of hard work. It was unhurried and simple, and Bilbo found that he preferred this, this beauty in simplicity, to anything written in stories.

Murmured endearments and many more kisses were shared that night, and the tea and paperwork lay happily forgotten as two hearts found their home in each other.


	8. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to evil-bones-mccoy and anonymoussong for inspiring me with their dorky Bagginshield puns.

Thorin would be the first to admit that while he was a fine warrior, a halfway decent uncle, a competent leader of his kin, and, he hoped, as loving a husband as Bilbo could wish for; he did have his shortcomings.

A rather woeful lack of sense of direction was one. Another was that despite his very best intentions, Thorin had never been particularly adept at intentional jesting.

Most folk remarked that Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror and former King Under the Mountain, had a sharp wit and a very dry sense of humour that only close friends and relations could truly appreciate. However, when it came to trying to tell a joke, Thorin found that his attempts were often met with stony silence or a bemused countenance.

Truly, he blamed his naturally stoic expression; for Dwalin had the same problem as he and they often bore the same kind of unapproachable appearance.

It was not a pressing issue in the slightest; after all, in the grand scheme of things, being able to tell a joke was not usually the most important trait one could offer others.

There were some days though that simply called for a joke. Days where the world weighed too heavily upon the shoulders of those he cared for most. It was on these days that Thorin keenly felt that he was failing in some way, no matter how infinitesimal it may seem.

Today was such a day.

Thorin had returned to Bag End absently twirling a small stone between his fingers as he considered how he might try to shape it into something for Bilbo. A pretty thing it was; a pleasing twining of purples and blues, not Bilbo's usual preferred colours to wear, but he felt the hobbit might like it all the same.

It was as he entered the kitchen that Thorin paused. Bilbo was stood at the sink, furiously scrubbing pots, pans, and dishes. Washing the dishes was a task Thorin usually did himself and he had done so after breakfast this morning, so why Bilbo was washing them again completely baffled the dwarf.

"Bilbo?" Thorin spoke tentatively, brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

It was only as he moved closer to his husband that he realised his dear hobbit was muttering through gritted teeth, face pulled into an impressive scowl as he worked.

"Bilbo," he tried again. "Whatever is the matter?"

"O-oh! Thorin!" Bilbo's slight jolt and quick turn towards the sound of Thorin's voice let the dwarf know that Bilbo had been completely ignorant of his presence up until that point. "I'm sorry; I didn't hear you come in."

"So I see… G _hivashel,_ why are you washing dishes again?"

"Oh… I just needed something to distract myself, that's all," Bilbo cast his gaze downwards again and fiddled with a soapy mug in his hands. "No use gardening or writing when I feel like this, I'll only end up making a mess of things."

"When you feel like what, Bilbo?"

"Frustrated… angry. I had a bit of a run in with some distant relations earlier. They seemed to be under the impression that I owed them a favour, when I know full well I do not," Bilbo harrumphed and set aside the mug with a little more force than necessary, thankfully it did not chip.

"The Sackville-Bagginses?"

Bilbo's lips quirked, "Surprisingly enough, no."

Thorin decided that for now, whatever had occurred between Bilbo and his family was best left well alone. If Thorin tried to coax details from his husband whilst he was still riled up, it would only make Bilbo feel worse, and seeing Bilbo upset was one thing Thorin found he could not bear.

Bilbo had started on a plate now, scrubbing at the delicate porcelain with a force Thorin knew would only end up damaging it. It was one of Belladonna's old dishes, and though it had once survived an evening of being used in an impromptu game of catch with his own nephews, Thorin feared that this rough treatment might just spell the end of it.

Bilbo would feel incredibly guilty if he broke it.

Reaching out and gently placing a hand over Bilbo's, Thorin rescued the old plate from Bilbo's less than delicate handling, and set it to one side before instinctively wrapping his arms around his husband's shoulders from behind and drawing him close.

"What would you have me do to make you smile again, Bilbo?"

The hobbit was silent for a few moments as he considered the question presented to him, and then hesitantly suggested, "I'm not entirely sure… tell me a joke?"

Thorin grumbled good-naturedly, trust his hobbit to ask the impossible, and did his best to cast about his mind for any joke he might recall another of his kin telling him at some point in time.

A huff, a pause, and then, "An elf walks into a- no… no never mind that one is terrible."

Bilbo remained silent as he waited, and Thorin was thankful to feel a little of the tension leaving Bilbo's posture as he continued to hold him.

It was then that Thorin recalled the stone he still held and inspiration struck. It was probably as bad as the joke about the elf but…

Thorin nuzzled the back of Bilbo's neck briefly before twirling the stone between his fingers once more so that Bilbo would notice it.

"I would tell you any number of jokes to make you smile again, my dearest one. However, I fear they would _fluorite_ over your head."

Bilbo stilled, breath catching, spluttered in indignation for a moment, and then seemed to notice the odd pronunciation of that particular word coupled with the self same stone in Thorin's palm. "D-did you just-"

Emboldened, Thorin tried again. "You should ignore those family members and not give in, _âzyungâl_ _._ They are just taking you for _granite_ because you are always so _gneiss_ _."  
_

"Y-you did you just-" Bilbo cut himself off with a slightly choked sound and his shoulders began to shake with what Thorin was delighted to find were barely suppressed giggles. _  
_

_"_ Of _quartz_ _,_ I could always _talc_ to them for you if you think it would help." _  
_

Bilbo had curled in on himself now, the laughter escaping from between pressed lips in tiny eeks. _  
_

Thorin grinned broadly; pleased that for once, his odd brand of humour seemed to be just what Bilbo needed. He leant in closer to nose at Bilbo's curls and place a kiss to his cheek. "You have my _sediments_. Dealing with relations like that must be such a _pumice_ _-_ ment." _  
_

Victory.

Bilbo finally gave in to his amusement; politely repressed giggles becoming a great bark of laughter, which once released could not be contained. The sound of it was music to Thorin's ears and he laughed along with his husband, the bright peals of Bilbo's joy filling the kitchen and warming Thorin's heart.

The laughter, as such laughter quite often did, carried on for a good while; every time one thought they had their mirth under control, the other would snigger, or chuckle, or hiccough and clap a hand to their mouth only for the laughter to start anew.

Finally, heaving for breath, Bilbo leant back into Thorin's embrace, placing his hands atop the dwarf's in a silent show of gratitude… and Thorin could not resist.

"You know, if you are so sure you owe them nothing, I will be sure to tell them they're talking absolute _schis_ -"

"Don't!" Bilbo barked, half scandalised, half amused. "Do not finish that awful pun, Thorin Baggins."

Thorin chuckled and placed an apologetic kiss to Bilbo's ear, murmuring quietly. "Are you feeling better now, Bilbo, even just a little?"

Bilbo turned in Thorin's arms to face him, pressing a firm, loving kiss to the dwarf's lips. "Yes, very much better, thank you."

"Good, I'm glad." Thorin finally released the hobbit and stepped back, giving him a little space.

Bilbo smiled and began drying the dishes he had needlessly washed as some odd form of stress relief, Thorin putting them away whenever they were handed to him.

It was a little time later whilst the pair were sat together reading in the parlour that Bilbo spoke of the incident again. "Those puns were absolutely awful, you know. Not that I didn't appreciate them… but my goodness Thorin, we really need to teach you some proper jokes."

Thorin paused, set his book aside, a slow sly smile curling his lips, and simply replied. "Truly? I honestly thought they were rather _igneous_ "

A pillow to the face courtesy of Bilbo let the dwarf know precisely what his husband thought of _that_.

 

* * *

 

It was a few weeks later when Bilbo went to visit Thorin at his forge and found the dwarf almost growling over an uncooperative sheet of metal that Bilbo managed to exact sweet revenge.

"This blasted thing is nowhere near good enough condition to work with; I swear your folk have never heard of good materials, Bilbo."

Giving a tolerant sigh, Bilbo tugged Thorin a safe distance from the forge fire before pushing himself up onto his toes and saying quite innocently, "Would you like me to _leaf_ you alone to continue your work then, darling? A pause and then a kiss and, "Or maybe _thistle_ make you feel better."

Bilbo could only laugh and squawk in outrage as arms covered in soot and sweat embraced him and his husband muffled joyous laughter in the crook of his neck.


	9. Training

His training had first begun as far back as Beorn's. It had been prudent, Thorin had stated, that their burglar know how to handle the weapon that Gandalf had found for him without taking his own head off. 

Bilbo had bristled at the comment, only to have Dwalin agree and add that since Bilbo seemed to share their leader's reckless knack for throwing himself at an opponent who outclassed him; it was wise to make sure the hobbit had some knowledge of how to fend for himself at least. 

Bilbo had been ready to argue, but the furious scowl Thorin aimed at Dwalin over the 'outclassing' remark left Bilbo feeling avenged enough, especially when Dwalin tipped him a friendly wink. 

"Only because he had a filthy great warg and a small legion at his back, one on one you'd have bested him, no doubt," Dwalin raised both hands in an appeasing gesture to his king and it seemed to placate him. 

And so, under the watchful eye of their still healing leader, the lessons had begun in those few peaceful days before they had set out for Mirkwood. 

Bilbo had been tutored first by Dori; which seemed like an obvious choice, as he was by far the strongest member in the Company. A master was he with any weapon handed to him and fierce as a bear in hand-to-hand combat. Unfortunately, this also meant that no matter how hard Dori tried to pull his punches, he was just too strong for Bilbo to learn from without being injured himself. The poor hobbit suffered a great many bruises, scrapes, and pulled muscles before Gandalf had mildly suggested they try someone else lest Bilbo was left unfit to travel.

Next to take up the tutor's mantle was Glóin. The idea had been a good one; Glóin was a fierce warrior and yet had a son of his own whom he had helped to train. Thus, Glóin was endlessly patient and knew when too much pressure was being applied to his student. Despite this, there was but one problem. Glóin was a master of the axe and whereas Dori had learnt to wield various weapons, Glóin's true skill lay just in one. This meant that when they had learnt the basics and moved onto learning finer techniques with Bilbo's sword, Glóin was not able to be of as much help as the rest of the Company had hoped.

Lastly, they had tried to employ Dwalin's assistance. It had lasted all of an afternoon before Dwalin had admitted defeat. Skilled warrior he may be, and able to tell when a student was flagging, but unfortunately the dwarf's patience was thin as a knife's edge when those he tried to teach were both reluctant to learn and just as likely to snipe back with barbed comments whenever the dwarf made a frustrated observation. 

In the end, the Company had left the relative safety of the skin-changer's home before they could properly train their burglar; and as the quest progressed thereafter and no more opportunities for training presented themselves, the dwarves simply had to hope that the hobbit's luck would keep him alive whenever they were caught in combat.

 

* * *

 

A full year and an epic battle later found Erebor reclaimed, Thorin and his Company settling into their home, a steady influx of trade and newcomers, and a hobbit who had decided that he could possibly learn to love this faraway place just as he had loved the Shire.

 

* * *

 

On a whim, Bilbo had left the mountain for some fresh air, one fine and sunny summer's day. It had been during his leisurely stroll that he had come across the deserted training ground and had hopped over the fence in order to have a wander around the large circular space. The reassuring weight of Sting at his hip was a reminder that whilst he had certainly weathered many a storm since leaving Bag End, it was not down to skill that he had survived, but mostly luck, the help of a certain ring, and a little cleverness on his part. 

If he could but fight as the palace guards did though… 

It was an odd fancy for a hobbit to have, but Bilbo had seen his friends in combat or at the very least training numerous times now, and always felt a little left out and useless. Besides, the likes of Fíli and Kíli made such things look fun. 

Trying his best to remember the advice and techniques shown to him in those all too brief lessons from more than a year before; Bilbo unsheathed Sting and began to slash at imaginary enemies, ducking and lunging in a manner he hoped did not look too ridiculous. 

So caught up was he in slaying invisible enemies, that he failed to notice the other presence by the fence until a voice startled him and nearly caused him to drop the sword onto his bare feet. 

"You've picked up bad habits, Master Baggins." 

Bilbo yelped and turned quickly to see Thorin leaning with his elbows upon the top rung of the split pole fence. How was it that Thorin, despite being a dwarf, could walk around so quietly? It rather flew in the face of all suppositions folk had about dwarves being noisy and lumbering. 

"What do you mean by bad habits?" Bilbo hurriedly sheathed Sting again, trotting over to the fence as Thorin climbed effortlessly over it to join Bilbo in the training yard. 

"Your footwork was entirely wrong on those last few lunges, and your grip on your sword is far too tight. You will lose control like that, and your movements won't be nearly as fluid as you would like… shall I go on?" 

Bilbo winced and sent a half-hearted glare at his companion. "I'd really rather you didn't. It isn't my fault I've barely had any experience with fighting… and quite frankly, I shouldn't even be wishing for _more_ , I'm a hobbit!"

"As you are quite fond of reminding us," Thorin smiled, tweaking Bilbo's nose affectionately as he passed by and made his way over to the weapon house set at the other end of the training yard. The practice weapons were stored here, Bilbo knew. "There's no harm in wanting to improve your technique, Bilbo. In fact, now that you live here amongst many warriors, it's probably a fine idea."

Bilbo followed the king and waited by his side whilst he let himself into the weapon house and borrowed a couple of wooden practice swords from the dwarf working there.

"What are you doing?"

"I should think it obvious. I'm going to train you." 

"W-wait, what? No- no no no, there's no need for it, Thorin, really."

Bilbo scurried after Thorin as he wandered back into the deserted training yard and weighed one of the swords in his hands, inspecting it along its length, before clearly deciding it was satisfactory and making a few practice swings with it. 

Bilbo immediately felt foolish just by watching him; there was no way he had looked anywhere near as competent as that… In fact, he was willing to wager he more closely resembled a faunt at play.

Thorin smiled and handed over the other sword to the bewildered hobbit before commanding, "Attack me." 

" _What!?_ " 

"Attack me, Master Baggins. I wish to see more of your technique so I can instruct you."

"Thorin, for pity's sake you are _king_ ; I can't go whacking at you with a sword, and I seriously doubt you have the time to be wasting tutoring a hobbit in proper swordplay." 

"Ah, so you have read my schedule recently, have you?" Thorin teased. "I'm happy to know my time is of such interest to you that you would do that to know when I'd be free and when I would not."

"Oh for goodness- you know what I mean, Thorin."

"I do, yes. You worry yourself needlessly, Bilbo. Fíli or Dís can easily sit in on a few meetings for me, and as for 'whacking at me'; I honestly do not think you will hurt me with _these_ ," Thorin gave the 'blade' of the wooden sword a smart tap with his forefinger. "The most damage we will do one another is bruises and possibly the odd splinter." 

Bilbo sighed, feeling the sword in his grip and twirling it clumsily. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" 

Thorin smiled, approaching Bilbo again and giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I would not force you to do anything you did not wish to, Bilbo. If you would rather not, then that is fine. I just presumed you were interested in learning." 

"I am, honestly… I'm just uncertain as to how much of an idiot I'll end up looking." 

Thorin laughed, stepping away again and taking up a defensive stance. "Do you think so little of my teaching methods that I would allow you to look a fool?" 

"No! No, not at all," Bilbo was quick to reassure and then tried to imitate Thorin's stance himself. "I just doubt my own capabilities in this instance. Hobbits aren't made for war." 

"Nor are any race… excepting perhaps the orcs. We learn from a young age to defend our family, our home, and ourselves. It would be an honour to teach this to you as well, providing you want to learn of course." 

"I do," Bilbo said with resolve.

"Very well, attack me then."

Bilbo was uncertain when they had started circling one another like opponents on a battlefield, the hobbit assumed he had naturally just started mimicking whatever move Thorin made. 

Nodding, Bilbo felt his expression set in determination. "Let it be known that you requested I do this… I don't want the likes of Dwalin coming for my blood if I inadvertently injure the king." 

Thorin's poorly concealed laughter at the idea of Bilbo injuring him was enough to mildly irritate the hobbit and spur him into action.

He leapt, lunging with the fiercest cry he could muster, sword swinging to try and land a blow at Thorin's chest- only for his wooden blade to be blocked far too easily and parried away. In the next instance, Thorin's own sword had come up under Bilbo's guard and sharply tapped his chest. 

"And just like that, you die, Master Baggins," there was no mocking in Thorin's tone, only a bleak summarisation of the event. 

Bilbo stepped back and chuckled, shaking his head. "Not quite, my dear." 

Mouth lifted in a cheeky grin, Bilbo tugged at the collar of his shirt to reveal the mithril he wore beneath it. 

"Ah, so there's hope for you yet," Thorin grinned and took up his stance again, Bilbo sputtering in mock outrage at the arrogant twist to his lips. "Come along then, Master Hobbit. Let us see if you can do better this time."

Bilbo wasted no time, taking up the offensive again and this time, when Thorin tried to fool him with the same move, he was ready. Bilbo blocked the incoming jab of Thorin's 'blade' and gave a small shout of triumph, only for the sound to cut off and transform into an indignant yelp and breathy 'oomph' as Thorin hooked Bilbo's leg with his own and sent the hobbit to the ground on his back. 

This time Bilbo felt the lightest tap of the wooden sword at his exposed throat as he squinted up at his opponent in the bright afternoon sunlight, and grumbled as Thorin declared his untimely demise once more. 

"I say, that was hardly very fair at all!" 

"You should know well enough now, that an orc won't care for a fair fight. Unfortunately, we have to fight much the same way to survive." 

"Ruffians," Bilbo sniffed with as much lofty Shire disdain as he could muster, causing Thorin to smile as he offered the hobbit a hand to help him up. 

Taking Bilbo's sword from him, Thorin set both practice weapons aside as he considered the hobbit carefully. "You are a fast learner, this we know. Unfortunately, given the length of time since you last trained, you are woefully out of practice, Bilbo. Rather than jumping right into swordplay, I recommend we refresh your knowledge of hand-to-hand combat first. It will help you remember how to stand, how to move, how best to use your instincts to your advantage." 

Thorin was circling him again, and with those sharp, keen eyes, Bilbo was strongly reminded of a wolf. He stood perfectly still as Thorin looked him over, stroking his beard in thought. 

"Your greatest advantage lies in your height being far smaller than what most enemies would be accustomed to; coupled with your speed and quick thinking, given the right instruction you would be a deadly adversary, I think. 

Bilbo almost laughed at that, only to feel taken aback when Thorin did not smile or jest; he was serious? 

"I saw how you trained back at Beorn's. Had we more time there, I do not doubt you would have become a proficient. Brute strength would never be your forte; you would never be able to overpower an enemy with that alone. However, your skill would likely surpass theirs given time, and if we could maybe equip you with another weapon as well as Sting, I think you'd have an excellent chance if another need to fight arose." 

Bilbo could feel warmth spreading through his chest at the odd praise Thorin had granted him, the tips of his ears heating as he smiled up at the king. If Thorin honestly believed that, then Bilbo would just have to do his best to prove it was true. 

"You would do well with a bow like Kíli's I think… or maybe throwing knives like Nori. For now though, let us continue with hand-to-hand training and see how you progress."

 

* * *

 

Bilbo was standing still, posture comfortably loose but not sloppy, and allowed Thorin to move him into a correct fighting stance. 

It was a little awkward, he admitted to himself as he tried to ignore the blush he wore; having Thorin so close and guiding him into the correct position. Neither of them was shy to admit what they were to each other anymore, but still… it would be a lot easier to concentrate if his tutor were one of his other friends and not his beloved. 

As capable hands moved over his hips and then nudged his feet into the correct position, Bilbo recalled the familiarity of the stance from his time at Beorn's. Yes, that felt correct; no wonder he had not felt right when Thorin had first asked him to show him a fighting stance after moving on to hand-to-hand fighting. 

"Your feet should be set just wider than your hips for balance, slightly staggered like so," Thorin gently moved the hobbit's foot to demonstrate. "Knees facing the same direction as your feet and your rear heel raised with your weight on the ball of your foot. If you stand flat footed your moves will likely be too sluggish." 

Bilbo nodded and felt his flush deepen as Thorin moved to correct his upper body position as well, one large hand splayed over his belly. "Keep some tension in the abdomen, and you want your pelvis to be positioned directly beneath your shoulders." 

More adjustments and Bilbo fought back an incredulous laugh as Thorin let his hands linger longer than necessary. "You're not fooling me, Thorin. I'm beginning to see the real reason why you wished to help me."

"I've not the faintest idea of what you speak, dearest," Thorin at least had the good grace to blush at having been caught out; ducking his head to hide the broad grin he now sported.

"Terrible, honestly terrible," Bilbo clucked his tongue, amused. 

Thorin arranged Bilbo's arms into a proper fighting pose next, and was bold enough to lean in and peck his cheek before returning to his original position across from the hobbit. Bilbo sniggered at the show of affection and waited for Thorin to take up his own battle stance. 

"Alright, remember what I told you of fighting techniques and keeping your guard up and try to attack me again." 

Bilbo, determined once more, made a lunge for Thorin.

 

* * *

 

It was rather embarrassing really, the amount of times he ended up knocked onto his back with a firm boot to his chest pinning him in place. 

He had hoped to see some improvement by the end of the week, but it was not to be. 

After their initial training session, Bilbo and Thorin had decided to make the practices a daily occurrence whenever possible. None of their friends knew of the arrangement save for Dís and Balin, who were made aware only so they could make sure Thorin's schedule was clear at the same time every day. 

Bilbo had wanted the training sessions kept a secret just in case he spectacularly failed. That way, he would be saved from possible ridicule. Thorin had assured him he would never be ridiculed by their friends, and besides which Bilbo would improve in no time at all. 

Bilbo was glad for the reassurance, but retained doubts, and so the request to keep the sessions private was honoured.

Of course, on occasion, it was impossible to do this, but for the most part, it seemed to be working quite well. 

"Don't be despondent," Thorin reassured, correctly interpreting Bilbo's expression as he helped him up again. "You are learning far quicker than a lot of dwarves I could name. I would not expect you to have found a way to overpower me just yet." 

Bilbo nodded and arranged himself into the starting position again and Thorin nodded encouragingly before moving to attack Bilbo once again.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo found, that as the weeks progressed, his stamina and technique did improve greatly. 

It was heartening, he thought as he wandered down the corridor massaging a sore muscle in his shoulder; that he had actually begun to be able to best Thorin during their sparring. 

He had looked so surprised the first time it had happened too! 

A sort of detached calm had settled over Bilbo when Thorin had leapt at him in that particular round, and without thinking overly much of what he was doing, Bilbo had grabbed Thorin's tunic, turned, kneeled, and let the dwarf's momentum carry him as Bilbo hefted him over his shoulder and to the ground. 

Thorin had blinked up at Bilbo from the flat of his back in confusion, the force of his landing slightly winding him. The hobbit too had looked surprised by his success, and had given a disbelieving hoot of laughter before ducking down to place an ecstatic kiss to Thorin's cheek before awkwardly helping him up. 

After that, it seemed that Bilbo's confidence was not only lifted by his first success, but his body started to retain the knowledge and feeling of fighting far better. He found that besting Thorin that time was not a fluke, but the beginning of a marked improvement in his skill.

 

* * *

 

Months passed, and as summer became winter and the training grounds became too bitterly cold to endure; Thorin moved the training inside, but still managed to somehow keep the knowledge of it from their friends.

Hand-to-hand combat was then joined by the inevitable swordplay, and as Bilbo slowly began to master that, Thorin presented the hobbit with his own bow and quiver of arrows to practice with.

Thorin, Bilbo decided, was actually a wonderful teacher. For all they often became distracted with kisses and playful banter, the dwarf was immensely patient when explaining and demonstrating a new technique Bilbo was having trouble grasping. He was careful never to push Bilbo beyond his limits whilst always urging him to do better and not settle for less. And Bilbo found that as his knowledge of battle tactics improved, he could easily see why Thorin was such a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. The dwarf moved with alluringly deadly grace, like a large cat, he could easily wield different weapons and not lack for skill with any of them; sword, bow, axe, were all used with lethal efficiency. He was not perfect, Bilbo now knew that no warrior ever was (Thorin for example, had a bad habit of occasionally leaving his guard open when he went on the offensive, making him vulnerable to attack). However, he was exceptionally well trained, and that same training was slowly being imparted onto Bilbo as it had his nephews when he had helped train them. 

More often than not these days, Bilbo would conclude their training sessions feeling tired and sore, but very happy. The pulled muscles, grazes, and dark bruises from when he had first started seemed to be a thing of the past, and Bilbo was grateful to finally notice the improvement in strength in himself.

 

* * *

 

It was not until spring that the rest of the Company found out about the secret training sessions. 

The Company and their families had all gathered to celebrate another anniversary of the beginning of their quest and were dancing, singing, drinking, and feasting. 

Bilbo was stood chatting amiably with Balin when it happened. Bofur, decidedly having too much fun, had decided to try to grab their hobbit from behind and hoist him into the air for some reason. 

Balin had opened his mouth to protest, but got no further than that. 

Bilbo's training with Thorin took over, instincts kicking in as he was grabbed, and in a move much reminiscent to his first success in besting Thorin; Bilbo gave Bofur a sharp kick to the shin so that he dropped him. He then grabbed his arms, twisted so his hold loosened, and flipped him clean over his shoulder and onto the floor before Balin. 

"Oh dear! Oh Bofur I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" 

Bofur blinked up at the hobbit incredulously before bursting into laughter. "W-what the- you! You managed to-" the rest of Bofur's words were lost as he giggled helplessly from the floor and refused to get up. 

"It would seem," Balin stated with a merry twinkle in his eye. "That _someone_ has been training our hobbit to fight." 

"That would explain a lot," Dwalin harrumphed and toed the still hysterically giggling Bofur as if to affirm that it had in fact happened and that Bofur really was there laughing on the ground.

"Oh, so _that's_ where they disappeared to everyday. I thought they were just going to-" Kíli was prevented from finishing his sentence by a sharp smack upside the head from his brother.

Bilbo covered his face with his hands in mortification as Thorin hid his laughter behind the façade of a cough beside him. 

Well, maybe the training hadn't been quite as secretive as they had hoped after all.


	10. Thou Shalt not Criticise the Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a sensitive writer ego and is a brat <3 They're both brats, honestly... but we love them all the same.
> 
> Inspired by the prompt on bagginshieldhappiness's blog:
> 
> Anonymous asked: Did you see that post about Tolkien's editor not liking the abrupt ending of the Hobbit so that's why he added the battle in there? Now I imagine Thorin saying "Bilbo, the ending of the book is anticlimactic" and Bilbo gets mad and kills Thorin and his nephews off in his book because "How's that for anticlimactic?!"
> 
> Actual canon  
> Really Thorin, criticize a hobbit’s writing at your own risk.

"It is…" Thorin paused, the words dying on his lips as he flicked his gaze up from the pages before him to the expectant face of his hobbit husband sat across the table from him. "It's hm… a very faithful retelling of the quest, _ghivashel_."

In the face of disappointing Bilbo, Thorin chose to answer as diplomatically as possible.

It was unfortunate circumstance however, that he and Bilbo had been married long enough for his hobbit to know when he was trying to soften a blow or be polite simply to spare another's feelings. His lovely face crumpled and Thorin felt terribly guilty.

"You don't like it," came the matter-of-fact remark.

"That is not true at all! It is a wonderful retelling, Bilbo it's just…"

"Please, Thorin. Be honest with me, you know I value your opinion."

"I'm not entirely sure why, dearest, I'm no wordsmith," Thorin muttered distractedly before taking a fortifying breath and speaking the truth as Bilbo had wished. "It's just… do you not think the ending a little abrupt?"

Bilbo blinked, and then frowned… ah that was not a good sign. "But you just said yourself it was a faithful retelling of our quest; what more can I say? Once Smaug was killed there was not much else that happened, save for you deciding to leave the ruling of the kingdom to Dáin."

Bilbo spoke true of course. Once Smaug had been slain, there was little else left to do but restore the kingdom to its former glory, and divide the treasure as had been promised. However, as Thorin and his Company had worked over the months, Thorin had decided that he was not particularly well prepared for ruling a kingdom, nor yet was Fíli or Kíli. Living on the road for so many a year, followed then by a simple life in Ered Luin had dulled the knowledge he had been taught when he was younger on how to act as king. He found that the idea of staying in one place for the rest of his life and giving his remaining years to the throne simply did not sit well with him any longer.

Therefore, at the earliest convenience, Thorin had sent word to his family in the Iron Hills that he was abdicating, and his heirs were renouncing their claim to the throne as well. Dáin had been content to take the role. Being a lord of his own lands had given him excellent practice, after all.

Satisfied that Erebor and his people there would be well looked after; Thorin had left with Bilbo.

"Aye, I know… but it just seems so-"

"So what?" there was a note to Bilbo's voice now, one that let Thorin know he'd best choose his next words very carefully.

"So…" oh blast it all, there was no gentle way to say it. "Bilbo, the ending of the book is anticlimactic. I'm sorry, I really am. I know you worked hard on this but it's not… it's simply not engaging enough once Smaug is dead."

Bilbo and he had been blessed, Thorin often thought this. They were a fine match for one another, their tempers much alike and personalities complementing each other wonderfully.

'Two halves of one whole' some folk would call it.

When Thorin had voiced such words once upon a time, Bilbo had laughed and kissed his cheek before declaring grandly that 'neither of us is half of anything; we are complete. We simply found another whole to achieve balance'.

Thorin found he loved that idea, and certainly, it did seem as if they balanced one another well. They could usually tell how the other felt or thought about a particular topic, and though they did bicker, they rarely properly argued.

Unfortunately, the high spots of colour on Bilbo's cheeks warned Thorin of just how much he had upset his husband with that rather blunt criticism. The hobbit seemed calm, serene even, but Thorin could see how his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth, and how his hands were balled into fists at his side.

"I am sorry, Bilbo," Thorin tried to amend, and meant his words sincerely. "You write very well, everything is so beautifully descriptive, it's just… perhaps our tale does not lend itself well for a storybook. It did rather lack excitement once Erebor was reclaimed."

"Oh," Bilbo sniffed disdainfully, his hurt feelings making him petty. "I suppose you know how a tale should be written then?"

Thorin winced, realising that though Bilbo had asked for a critique, he had probably been hoping for something a little gentler on his feelings than what Thorin had given him.

Writers…

"No, Bilbo. You know very well I cannot write a story like that… songs perhaps," he allowed. "But written stories are beyond my talent. _You_ are a very fine writer. However, in this instance, I just feel you could probably do better."

"Right… right," Bilbo huffed and screwed up his nose, coming around to Thorin's side of the table and taking the book from him.

"Bilbo, I really didn't mean-"

"No, I asked you after all, and it is a little- never mind. Thank you for being honest."

Thorin was left feeling utterly dreadful as Bilbo clutched the book to his chest and all but stormed out of the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

Thorin had decided to try to apologise to Bilbo with actions as well as words. It was only right, given that he had inadvertently hurt Bilbo's feelings.

True, Bilbo could be a little oversensitive when it came to critiques, but Thorin had not exactly softened the blow when he'd given him his verdict on the book… and Bilbo had worked _so_ hard on it as well.

Humming as he took the cake from the oven, Thorin set it to one side to cool.

One of Bilbo's favourite treats was honey cake (quite possibly due to a certain skin changer's recipe they had learnt on their travels), and though they didn't make it too often, Thorin felt that this was an occasion where it would be gratefully received.

He had barely finished cleaning up when Bilbo's head tentatively peeked around the doorframe having obviously smelled the cake baking.

The hobbit had holed himself up in his study after he had stormed off and had not come out since, until this very moment.

"Is that… honey cake?" Bilbo's voice was meek, embarrassed perhaps, and Thorin hid a smile before turning to face him properly.

"Yes, I wanted to apologise for upsetting you over the book, I could have been a great deal more tactful."

Bilbo shuffled in the doorway for a moment like a contrite child, then quickly walked over to Thorin and embraced him warmly. "It's quite alright, I shouldn't have sulked so. You were only giving your honest opinion… and I do value it, even if it did not seem like it at the time. I am sorry as well, for acting like a child."

Wrapping his arms around Bilbo in turn, Thorin nuzzled his face into the hobbit's hair, grinning. "Apology accepted."

 

* * *

 

The pair polished off the entire cake in record time that evening, the smial warmed with their laughter and light-hearted chatter.

Thorin had to know though…

"Just what were you doing all afternoon in your study, Bilbo?"

"Oh, just making some edits to the book. I'm hoping I can make it better."

The answer was rather vague, but Thorin accepted it for what it was and thought no more of it…

… At least until he found the book open on the last page the next day.

Because, that certainly was _not_ what Bilbo had concluded the story with last Thorin had read it…

Curiosity piqued, Thorin flipped back a few pages and…

"You _killed_ us!?"

"What was that, dear?" Bilbo was the picture of utter poise and nonchalance as he sipped tea at the breakfast table when Thorin strode in, the book in his hands.

"You! You _killed_ me… and Fíli and Kíli, what in Mahal's name, Bilbo-!?"

"Well actually, your darling nephews popped by earlier and requested a noble death scene when they saw what I had written, so really I can't be entirely blamed for that."

Thorin spluttered, and looked in shock from his husband to the book and back again. Bilbo simply finished his tea and delicately set the cup aside as he waited for Thorin to compose himself.

Was it odd that even though there was the smallest part of him that was offended at being killed off in written form, he could actually appreciate the hobbit's wicked sense of vengeance?

Not to mention that…

"Damn it, it is actually really good now, Bilbo."

"Hm, they do say the pen is mightier than the sword, darling."

Thorin glowered, but could not keep up the act for long and soon found himself laughing helplessly as he tugged Bilbo to his feet, pulled him close and kissed him soundly.

" _You_ ," he punctuated each word with a brush of his lips. "Are _evil_. A _menace_. And I've no idea why people assume you are the nice one."

Bilbo shook his head and smiled ruefully at his husband. "I am sorry, this was ever so petty of me, if you would like me to change it so-"

"No, don't. It is odd of me to say this but… it is wonderful this way. Bittersweet and rather heart wrenching… not to mention it might mean the three of us will face less attention from folk clamouring for us to return to Erebor if the publication becomes wide-spread. I think you may have done us a favour."

Bilbo chortled happily, holding Thorin close. "Well then… how's that for anticlimactic?"

Thorin shook his head and reached out to tug lightly on Bilbo's curls. "You've more than redeemed yourself, _‘ukrad_ ."


	11. Black-Hearted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off of the wonderful headcanon that radioactive-earthshine posted about the dwarven meaning for 'black-hearted'.

The first time Thorin said it to him, Bilbo presumed that perhaps he just misheard, or else maybe the dwarf had mistranslated what he had meant to say. It happened to the best of them after all; Westron was not his dwarves' first language and so mistakes were bound to happen on occasion.

They had been curled up together in one of the great armchairs in front of the hearth, sleepy and barely conscious after a hard day of helping to restore some of the lower levels. It was a good example of just how good a king Thorin would make that he personally sought to help by hefting stone and forging metal, rather than simply overseeing the restoration from afar. Naturally, where Thorin helped, so too did Bilbo. The pair now nigh inseparable and found that they worked best when as a team. 

Happily had Bilbo tucked himself into the curve of Thorin's arm that evening, heedless of the fact that they both could benefit from a bath. He had been very close to drifting off when Thorin had pulled him closer, eyelids heavy, and murmured quite lovingly 'black-hearted'. 

This was where the confusion had started. Bilbo and Thorin were in love; there was no denying that now, and Bilbo was certain the dwarf held him in as high a regard as Bilbo held the dwarf. The way Thorin had spoken had been gentle and full of affection, but the words… Surely, Bilbo must have misheard.

For why would Thorin refer to him as 'black-hearted'?

Deciding quite quickly that either one of them had made a mistake, or else Thorin was truly more asleep than he looked and mumbling nonsense, Bilbo sought to put the odd instance out of his mind and was all too happy to surrender to the pull of sleep.

 

* * *

 

The second time he heard the term, he could not be sure if it was him mistranslating this time, for he heard it in Khuzdûl. 

It had been decided over the course of a few months of Bilbo living within Erebor, that it would be best for the future consort to learn their language. Of course, there had been a few grumblings amongst the old traditionalists who had recently arrived from Ered Luin that an outsider of a different race should not be allowed to learn. 

Thorin had put paid to the comments by wondering aloud if they expected Bilbo to muddle through his impending duties barely knowing what was being said around him. He added that if resistance was shown in this matter, the king would see it as a slight against his intended and so feel forced to abdicate. 

With peace obtained but still quite fragile, and the restoration of Erebor pooling all their resources, it would be a terrible blow should they be left leaderless. Therefore, the argument was settled quite swiftly and Bilbo had begun his lessons in Khuzdûl with Balin. 

He was doing quite well, or so he thought. Until of course he had heard Thorin mutter that term to a visiting delegate from the Iron Hills whilst smiling in his direction and so had to re-evaluate his opinion on how well he was learning or not. 

'Black' had definitely been in there and once more Bilbo was certain the whole phrase had roughly translated to Westron as 'black-hearted'.

… It was the Khuzdûl. That is what it was. Bilbo had misunderstood and once this meeting was over he would go and ask Balin what it was he had heard, yes that was the best way. 

Then of course, the meeting had dragged on longer than they had intended and the delegates had been grouchy. Therefore, Thorin had decided to smooth things over by inviting them to a feast. 

Bilbo forgot to ask Balin after that.

 

* * *

 

The third time Bilbo heard it was during a public announcement (much to his mortification). 

Once again, the term was said in Khuzdûl, but by this time Bilbo had a strong enough grasp on the language to know that there was no way he had mistranslated. Also, as Thorin was speaking to a crowd, his voice was clear and loud. There was no feasible way Bilbo could have heard him incorrectly either. 

So why in the wide world was Thorin calling him something so foul? 

Bilbo pushed aside the prickle of hurt and anger as something simply did not tally up here. Thorin was speaking of him with such affection, and the crowd was responding positively… so clearly Bilbo was the one misunderstanding something and not the dwarves.

Resigning himself to remaining in the dark a little longer, Bilbo listened to the rest of the speech (Thorin was singing the praises of the other Company members now) and resolved to ask Thorin about the term just as soon as they were alone.

 

* * *

 

"Something has been confusing me," Bilbo began apropos of nothing. 

Thorin had removed his crown and was just starting on the clasps of his cloak when he paused to turn and give Bilbo his full attention. "What has been confusing you, Bilbo?" 

"It is a term I've heard you used to describe me on numerous occasions… I'm afraid I don't quite understand why you are using it or what it means to you, but I must tell you that in Westron it's rather… unpleasant."

Thorin blinked in surprise and discarded his cloak without bothering to hang it up so that he could cross the room to stand before his husband looking concerned. 

Bilbo would usually scold him for leaving clothing lying around like that, but Thorin looked so worried and contrite, the hobbit really could not bring himself to do so.

"What term was it, _âzyungâl_?"

Bilbo felt his lips twitch; he had been foolish suppose for even a moment that Thorin might have meant what he said in any way other than something positive.

"In Westron you say it as 'black-hearted'", the hobbit then made sure to say the Khuzdûl term as well, just so Thorin would be sure of it. "In Westron to call someone black-hearted means that you think of them as evil; malevolent, or malicious. It is not a term one would use as an endearment. However, it seems as if that is what you have been doing, unless I'm mistaken." 

Thorin looked scandalised and placed gentle hands on Bilbo's shoulders, his face such a picture of seriousness that Bilbo almost laughed. "I have been insulting you in your language. Why did you not say anything?" 

"Well, to be honest I assumed that perhaps I misheard the first time, and since then I couldn't be sure if maybe I was mistranslating… it seems I was right though. Honestly Thorin, so long as you don't mean it in the way Westron intends it, I'm not the least bit offended," he paused then shrugged before adding. "I _am_ a little curious as to what you've meant by it though." 

Just as the serious concern had looked comical, so too did the sheer relief Thorin's face now portrayed. Bilbo chuckled and pushed himself up on his toes to give the dwarf a quick peck on the cheek. 

Thorin smiled and fidgeted a little before explaining the term. "To us dwarves 'black-hearted' does not mean a bitter or wicked person, but a person of the hearth and forge. To us, black is the colour of the iron used in pots and pans where soup is made, black is also the colour of coal, of heat and of life. To refer to someone as 'black-hearted' in Khuzdûl is to mean that they are your hearth fire, your life and joy. It means that you value them dearly and that they have proven a great deal of worthiness to you. Bilbo, you are very dear to me and so that is why I use that term for you." 

Really, having lived with dwarves for as long as he had now, Bilbo should have guessed the term would mean something like that. Still, to hear it from Thorin's own lips only made it more special, and Bilbo wasted no time in throwing his arms around Thorin enthusiastically.

"You are such a sap," he accused, voice thick and full of adoration. "If I'd but known the meaning to you dwarves, I'd have been using the same term to describe you as well." 

Thorin grinned into Bilbo's curls, ridiculously happy at that admission. "It seems us dwarves and hobbits have quite a few differences where endearments are concerned then."

"Oh yes, I'm sure I'll inadvertently insult you some day with what is meant to be a loving hobbitish nickname." 

"Well, just so long as you mean it as a compliment and we do our best to smooth out these differences from now on; it should be no trouble at all." 

Bilbo heartily agreed and was about to pull Thorin down for a kiss when he remembered something. "Wait… wait just a- you've been calling me such sappy things in _public speeches_!?" 

Thorin spent the next hour trying to explain to Bilbo that dwarves were a lot more open with their affections with their significant others, even when giving public speeches. Bilbo decided he needed a good strong cup of tea and agreed that the two of them would have to be a lot more open about their cultural differences in future.


	12. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit early, but I wanted to post this one now so I can spend some time on my Yule fic tomorrow ;P

"-Oh and this one we call 'the Burning Briar', or sometimes 'the Sickle'. I've heard that it is important to many races, but I can't say if I've heard of the dwarves holding it to any particular significance-" 

"We do," Thorin replied smoothly, a smile tilting his lips.

The night air was cool this mid-spring evening, and the both of them were bundled up in cloaks as they sat upon a blanket on the hill above Bag End. Above them, the velvety black of night was studded with thousands of stars, and after they had finished the snacks Bilbo had brought with them, they had turned their discussion to those tiny pin-pricks of light. 

Bilbo waved his hands, icy from the chill of the evening, as he indicated to various famous stars and constellations hung above them, twinkling like fireflies. 

"What do your folk call it then?" 

Bilbo's eyes were wide and wondering in the dark, the starlight seemingly caught within them, and Thorin reached out to brush a lock of hair from the hobbit's forehead, leaning in to indulge his whim and nuzzle his lips against the warm skin of his temple before answering. "We call it 'Durin's Crown'. It is important to us for more than one reason." 

Bilbo's eyelids had fluttered shut at the contact, but now, with the unspoken promise of an explanation, he gave Thorin his full attention. The hobbit had always loved a story or a chance to learn some new interesting tidbit about dwarven lore or culture. 

"When my ancestor Durin the Deathless awoke to the world, it was in Mount Gundabad, to the north of the Misty Mountains. He travelled south and eventually came upon a lake called Mirrormere. When he stopped there and looked into the lake he saw a crown above his head, made by the reflection of the stars above, despite the fact it was daytime and the stars should not have been visible. It was those very stars that he saw reflected in the lake. He took the crown as a sign; and later founded the city of Khazad-dûm beneath the mountains that fed Mirrormere. There is a pillar there to this day called Durin's Stone that is situated along the banks of the lake to mark the event." 

Thorin's gaze softened, affection warming his heart as he noted the awed expression on Bilbo's face. It always filled him with joy to have Bilbo show such interest in any aspect of his people's history. 

"What is the other reason for the stars' importance?" Bilbo murmured his voice hushed. 

"Ah, that would be because the creation of this constellation was in part due to our own creator, Mahal. It was a joint effort between him and Varda. The tale goes that Mahal was working on making a silver sickle, and when he struck it with his hammer seven sparks flew up into the sky. Varda quickly caught them and set them in the northern sky as a challenge and a warning to Morgoth of his eventual downfall." 

"Morgoth's downfall?"

A breeze set the oak leaves above their heads rustling and Bilbo scooted a little closer to Thorin for warmth. Already anticipating the move, Thorin lifted the corner of his cloak and beckoned Bilbo to curl close against him, wrapping them both in the warm woollen fabric. Their shared cloaks and combined body heat banished the chill quickly enough, and Thorin took a moment to formulate a satisfactory answer to the question posed to him. 

He had long since learnt that hobbits were insular creatures, not much caring for the world outside their Shire, and even less concerned about the possibility of grand and terrible prophecies coming to pass. Bilbo was altogether a different hobbit. Though he still retained a certain naivety regarding the world beyond his borders; his eyes had been greatly opened by the quest. Coupled with this was the hobbit's naturally curious mind and insatiable thirst for knowledge; as such Thorin had found he did not usually have to explain things quite as thoroughly as one might assume. 

"The prophecy of Dagor Dagorath, have you not heard of it?" 

Bilbo's brow furrowed and he hemmed and hawed for a moment before reluctantly shaking his head. "The name seems familiar, I may have read about it _somewhere_ when I was younger, but I'm afraid the details escape me." 

"Another name for it would be the Final Battle," Thorin started without preamble. "I have heard of the prophecy before and it speaks of Morgoth finding a way to break the Door of Night, where he was banished, and destroying the sun and moon. It is said that then all the races in Middle Earth will rise to help defeat him and his servants. 

"There is more to it than that of course, but I'm afraid I cannot remember it all. Once the battle is over though, our own legends state that all dwarves will be called forth by Mahal to help reshape Arda." 

Bilbo whistled without pitch, impressed by the idea. Though after a moment his brow creased again and he murmured quietly. "When you say _all_ dwarves, does this mean those of you that are dead as well?" 

"That does seem to be what the prophecy implies, yes." 

"Hmm," Bilbo fell silent then, seemingly troubled by something, though Thorin knew not to press him for details. 

They spent a little longer simply gazing upon the glorious veil of the silvery pinpoints of light above them before Bilbo found the courage to speak of what was troubling him. 

"You know, when hobbits die, we don't quite know where it is we go," he began awkwardly. "Some reckon we go to the same place as men… but others disagree with that. The thing is… I have a horrible feeling that wherever we go, it won't be the same place as dwarves." 

Ah, so that was the problem. 

Thorin felt a small twinge of hurt at the painful notion himself, but tempered it and brushed it stubbornly aside 

Resting his chin atop Bilbo's head and inhaling the warm, homey scent of his hair, Thorin mumbled reassuringly. "You should know by now that I am a stubborn creature. Wherever you end up, I'll find a way to get to you." 

A pointed chill settled on the skin of his throat, and Thorin realised his hobbit was nuzzling his neck with his cold nose. "Oh, I don't doubt that, dear. It's just… you say you will be called back to recreate the world so…" 

"… You fear our parting then." 

"Hm, I'm far too accustomed to your foolishness to have it torn away from me like that." 

Thorin chuckled at the remark, but felt the need to give Bilbo a proper answer. In truth, he did not know for certain what would happen. There were none who did. However, Thorin was sure of one thing. He would fight every one of the Valar; destroy every prophecy if he had to if it meant seeing Bilbo again. 

Pulling away from Bilbo's incessant nuzzling, Thorin gently caught him by the shoulders so that he could look him in the eye, his face a picture of solemn promise. 

"Bilbo, I swear to you. Whatever happens, whether that prophecy is true or not, I will find a way back to you. I truly believe our spirits are meant to find one another no matter if the world is made anew and our bodies changed. I do not think anything could keep me from you forever." 

Bilbo flung himself at the dwarf and wrapped his arms firmly about his shoulders sending them both toppling back onto the blanket with a sound of happy contentment. The hobbit then proceeded to bury his face against Thorin's neck once more, and Thorin could feel the grin pressed to his skin as Bilbo teased. 

"Even if I came back as a dragon or something?" 

Thorin gave an incredulous bark of laughter, but held Bilbo close all the same. "I'm not entirely sure it works that way… but yes, even if you were a dragon I'd find my way to you… just promise me you won't roast me alive. Being burnt to a crisp by my own husband really would make for an ignoble end." 

"I think I can promise that." 

"Good." 

Settling himself more comfortably in Thorin's hold, Bilbo turned his attention to the stars once more, now that serious matters had been so neatly resolved. 

There was silence for a time and then- 

"Oh! Look, a falling star!" 

"Hn?" Thorin disliked admitting to falling asleep, but he was undeniably comfortable here with Bilbo warming him and so he _might_ have drifted off for a few moments. 

"You were sleeping weren't y- oh wait look, there's another!" 

It was true. This time Thorin saw it too. A streak of light cutting across the night sky and fading before either of them could truly appreciate the beauty of it. 

"Quickly now, make a wish."

"Sorry?" 

"A wish, Thorin. Whenever you see a falling star you get to make a wish… Do dwarves not do that?" 

"We're made for mountain halls, we don't really star gaze much as a rule, saving some of our seers perhaps. Seeing a falling star is very rare for us, but even so we've never thought much of it." 

Bilbo clucked his tongue and sat up properly again, leaning over Thorin to cover his eyes with a soft, warm, palm. 

"Indulge me. Close your eyes and make a wish." 

Thorin smirked, the whole thing seemed rather childish to him, but he played along all the same. It was only when he mumbled that he had finished his wish that Bilbo removed his hand. Thorin found himself gazing up at the hobbit still hovering over him and brought one hand up to thread through his curls, gently massaging his scalp. 

"Hm, came true faster than I thought it might." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"I'd have thought it obvious. You are my wish." 

Warm lips quickly muffled Bilbo's subsequent bright laughter and accusation of Thorin being a 'hopeless romantic' and the pair found that enjoying each other's company was far more pleasant than stargazing.


	13. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on anonymoussong's ideas for the ways Thorin and Bilbo sleep when together.

They have a sleeping position for almost every day of the week. 

This fact had amused Bilbo no end when he had first realised it, an unconscious tallying of how they sleep had begun to formulate within his mind one morning upon waking and left him smiling throughout breakfast.

 

* * *

 

Last night for instance, Bilbo had curled himself almost cat-like upon Thorin's chest. Indeed, Thorin had teased him that his quiet snores sounded uncannily like the purr of a cat and Bilbo had tickled his sides relentlessly in revenge. 

"I have already been likened to a rabbit on more than one occasion, you great oaf! I'll not be adding anymore animals to that list, please and thank you!" 

Thorin's rumbling laughter had been as rolling and comforting as far off thunder; as pacifying as the warmth of a blanket, and as endlessly beautiful and captivating as languid kisses under the cover of a starlit night.

Bilbo maintains this way of sleeping is his way of asserting dominance. "Someone has to keep you in line, dearest. Elsewise there's no telling how arrogant you might become." 

Teasing lies of course; Thorin, for all he was King Under the Mountain, did not seem to posses an arrogant bone in his body, and well did he and Bilbo both know it. 

Still, Thorin always seems to enjoy this sleeping position well enough, it allows him to hold Bilbo properly and to run gentle fingers up and down the hobbit's back. Bilbo is always dangerously close to purring for real then.

 

* * *

 

Some nights find Bilbo curled into Thorin's side, seeking the warmth and comfort such a position offers. Strong arms will wrap around his back, and there will be the undeniable sensation of a nose buried in his curls. 

Bilbo has never quite understood the fascination Thorin has with his hair. Surely, the dwarf's own locks are far more attractive. Long and thick and shot through with silver; whether neatly brushed and braided, or else pulled into a messy horsetail with long strands escaping their bonds, Thorin's hair is the loveliest Bilbo has ever seen. 

Curiously enough, the dwarf has the same opinion of his hair. The curls may be a great deal shorter than most dwarves are accustomed to, but in that, there is a charm of its own. Bilbo does not conform to conventions of standards the dwarves hold; he is wilful and free of their opinions, not caring one whit if traditionalists mutter how he should at least _try_ to fit in.

Thorin likens his hair to honey; in hue, it is a close match. Rich and deep with shades of gold, but Bilbo is far more precious to him than any mere coin or bauble.

It is a secret known only to the dwarf king as to why he enjoys nuzzling Bilbo's hair so, but the truth of the matter is that the softness of the locks against his skin, and the warm, clove and spice smell of Bilbo's soap mingles wonderfully with every idea Thorin has ever attributed to 'home'. Bilbo is home to him, and so long as he can hold him close, his dreams will be sweet.

 

* * *

 

Other nights, Bilbo will tug at the dwarf, grumbling beneath his breath until Thorin lays sprawled across him like a blanket. 

In summer, such a position can be far too stifling for the hobbit to bear, but in the dead of winter, this is perhaps his favourite way to sleep. There is something so incredibly comforting about being pressed into the mattress like this. He feels safe and secure, protected and much loved.

Especially when Thorin starts to lavish attention on his face, neck, chest, anywhere the dwarf's lips can easily reach… 

Bilbo will wake to the heady, heavy feeling of warmth surrounding him, a lullaby in its own right to send him back to sleep; only to find tickling, whiskery kisses being pressed to the skin of his throat or his cheek, sometimes it is his forehead or eyelids, the tip of his nose, his lips, or his collarbone. Bilbo will complain muzzily about neither of them getting enough sleep; but then the gentle brush of Thorin's lips and beard will melt his complaints away like frost under morning sun and Bilbo will surrender to the bubbling giggles rising within him, Thorin joining him in laughter.

 

* * *

 

Nights like these it is not unusual for Thorin to slip a little lower, his head finding rest on Bilbo's chest; pillowed there and entirely too comfortable.

This is often Thorin's favourite arrangement. He is a dwarf who has known hardship and heartache; in the past, he has not been allowed to hold onto those that he loves. Now it is different, but he still takes solace in reassurance. 

Reassurance comes in the steady rhythm, the dancing beat of a drum in Bilbo's chest. His heartbeat is the finest music Thorin has ever heard, and much like the scent of his hair, it encapsulates everything Bilbo is; his warmth his strength, his steadfast loyalty and persistent faithfulness of 'I will stay, I will stay, I will stay'. 

Bilbo's fingers threading through his hair in gentle strokes are an added assurance, a tether between them that fills Thorin with joy and keeps him anchored all at once. 

Bilbo enjoys combing through his hair, he has confessed as much before. His beloved will often fall into a charming habit of humming tunes from the Shire whilst he cards fingers through Thorin's unruly mane and will murmur quiet admonishments if Thorin moves around too much. It is Thorin's favourite way to fall asleep, listening to a harmonising of Bilbo's voice and Bilbo's heartbeat.

 

* * *

 

There is one more way to sleep that occasionally leads to good-natured arguments. 

On certain nights, Thorin will pull Bilbo into a loving embrace; the hobbit's back nestled warmly against Thorin's chest.

Much like having Thorin sprawled atop him, this position does make Bilbo feel unaccountably safe and cared for. However, there is the slight problem of Thorin being dreadfully silly in his heart of hearts and his daft husband enjoys nothing more than nosing at Bilbo's ear when they sleep like this. 

He _knows_ it tickles. Bilbo has told him so before! Yet still, his husband persists, until sometimes the hobbit will lightly drive his elbow back (a warning) and a breathy 'oomph' and endearingly wounded sounding voice will reproach him thus. 

"I didn't do that on purpose, _amrâlimê_ , yet you would attack me?" 

"What nonsense, you know very well what you're doing, Thorin… and I'd hardly call _that_ an attack." 

The bickering will flow back and forth, silly and light-hearted as they try to prevent the encroaching lull of sleep. Until Bilbo will fuss and shoo and make Thorin roll over so that Bilbo can take his place at the dwarf's back instead; arms barely long enough to wrap fully around his torso. 

Clever, tickling fingers to waist and hips always spell revenge.

 

* * *

 

Yes, there are many different ways the two of them sleep, Bilbo muses as he snuggles himself into the curve of Thorin's arm, smiling, but so long as they are together then any of these positions will be just fine.


	14. Festival of Solmath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3 Happy Valentine's Day you massive dorks! <3 <3 <3
> 
> (Not my best work, but we needed an obligatory Valentine's Day mention Middle Earth style, right?)

Every year during Solmath, roughly a week before the turn of Rethe, a celebration was held in the Shire.

Now a hobbit by nature will look to any cause as worthy of celebrating; such was their love for good food, good cheer, and good company. It had often been said that the Shire-folk went so far as to adopt a number of festivals from other races, simply to have reason to throw a good party.

Whether this accusation was true or not was a matter hotly debated amongst hobbits and people travelling through their lands… Whereby 'hotly debated' means to politely invite the accuser for afternoon tea and explain to them in as much hobbitish common sense as possible _why_ and _how_ they were wrong.

Regardless, the hobbits did agree that _one_ of their celebrations was adopted from men; this being the aforementioned Festival of Solmath.

The Festival of Solmath was one hobbits held close to their hearts. It had made its way to their lands on the wings of stories spun by travelling men from the south looking for trade, and the hobbits had fallen in love with it almost instantly. The festival actually celebrated just that, falling in love, and once the hobbits had heard the tales and learnt the customs; they took to adopting it most enthusiastically.

This had been a century or two ago, and by now the holiday was so deeply ingrained into hobbit culture that it often took some delicate reminding that it hadn't actually been _their_ holiday to begin with.

Of course, there were always a certain few who could not be bothered with such frivolities: one of these few being a certain Master Bilbo Baggins of Bag End.

He maintained that it was a ridiculous notion and though there were plenty who proclaimed Bilbo did not like it simply because he had nobody to celebrate with, Bilbo had an entirely different reason which he never saw prudent to explain lest he be branded a 'spoil-sport'. The fact of the matter remained, that to him, it seemed to trivialise love and all its intricacies by giving it just _one_ day to be celebrated.

Love, Bilbo thought most stoutly, should be a year round celebration. Furthermore, it should not only be limited to those silly tweens mooning over the lad or lass down the way, but should encompass all aspects of the emotion; family, friends, loves old and new, _all_ of them.

And so, Bilbo had never celebrated the Festival of Solmath. Not even as a faunt, when all his year mates were running around Hobbiton gifting one another messily hand-made mathoms and sweet treats and shy little kisses.

He still recalls his mother, laughing long and hard when he had told her resolutely; face screwed up in childish determination, that he would _never_ celebrate anything so silly.

"Your soul is too old for that wee body of yours." His mother had teased affectionately, but not tried to sway his opinion on the matter.

 

* * *

 

As the years had gone by, Bilbo's stance had softened on the festival a little. He had learnt that denying something that brought others joy so absolutely was, in a way, quite petty. Therefore, the hobbit had grown to tolerate the silliness that surrounded the festival and simply keep to himself that day.

It was not that Bilbo particularly hated the celebration, not at all! He was very fond of the idea of love; he just took issue with how… how trite it had become. He always made sure to send his friends and family small mathoms to show his regard that way, but he had never particularly embraced the enthusiastic lengths some of his neighbours went to.

It was after a certain dwarf came to live with him that Bilbo had to suffer the foolishness of the Festival of Solmath again.

Thorin had been living at Bag End for several months; all through Lithe and Halimath, right through Yule, and then of course into Solmath.

Given his time away from the Shire, and the fact he was not particularly fond of recognising the festival anyway, the hobbit could be forgiven for forgetting the date was almost upon them.

Heavy rain and a chill wind had kept them from bothering to go to market for a few days, but by the fourth day they were running low on some essentials, and Thorin seemed about ready to claw at the walls through being cooped up in one attitude for too long.

Bilbo had thought nothing of thrusting a basket into his hands and shooing him out the door to 'get yourself some fresh air, and give _me_ some peace and quiet'.

It was only upon the dwarf's return that Bilbo realised his grievous error.

In stumbled Thorin positively laden with a basket full of food (more treats than essentials, Bilbo noted in dismay), a huge bunch of flowers, and an iron key clamped firmly between his teeth, doing his very best not to topple over or drop anything.

The flowers and the key were the giveaway and Bilbo buried his face in his hands, tips of his ears turning red as he bemoaned his fate. "Oh no, they got to you as well!"

Thorin made an intelligible sound, which _might_ have been a valiant attempt to offer Bilbo an answer, but with the key still hanging from his lips and a large amount of flowers hiding his face, Bilbo had little to no hope of understanding him.

Jostling and juggling with his purchases, Thorin eventually managed to set them all down safely and tried again. "I was trying to say that I ran into Hamfast on the way down to the market and he began telling me about the holiday you all celebrate today; why did you not tell me? I nearly didn't get you anything to cele- oh is something the matter, Bilbo?"

Part way through his explanation, Thorin had finally noticed the deep flush on Bilbo's face and trailed off, slightly concerned.

Bilbo was currently imagining the various inventive ways he could exact revenge on his friend and neighbour and so nearly missed Thorin's question.

"No! No not at all, it's just…" Bilbo nibbled his lower lip feeling conflicted. On the one hand, the festival quite irritated him, but on the other, Thorin had bought him gifts… And curse it he looked entirely too sweet holding out those flowers to him as well. "I don't usually bother celebrating the Festival of Solmath. I think this is the first time I've ever received gifts that weren't of the friendly sort from my family."

"Oh," Thorin's brow creased. "Do you not like the festival?"

Bilbo sighed tolerantly, and readily accepted the flowers, smiling despite his principles on the matter. They were lovely…

"As a rule, I find it a little… grandiose. They are using a day to celebrate love when I have always thought love should just be celebrated everyday. It is not as if I hate it or anything though… and it was very thoughtful to get me gifts."

Bilbo could not help but grin, hiding his face partially behind the flowers in an attempt to hide how foolishly pleased he felt.

"Did Hamfast help you with these, per chance?"

Thorin had slowly been learning the language of flowers after moving to the Shire, but he still wasn't quite as proficient with it as the hobbits.

"Ah, well… yes I had a little help." Thorin rubbed the back of his head looking sheepish. "I nearly chose yellow chrysanthemums to go in the bouquet, and Hamfast was quick to point out that my regard for you is not exactly a secret."

Bilbo snickered, setting the flowers aside to press a quick kiss to the dwarf's cheek.

"As I said, I don't usually celebrate this, but I'm starting to think I could make an exception… just this once."

Thorin beamed at him and then handed him the key, shrugging one shoulder in mild confusion. "I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure what that is meant to be for, but the lady on the stall said it was important I give it to you if I truly loved you, and I do so…"

Bilbo had to fight back another blush and hide his laughter beneath the façade of a cough. For a stoic warrior king of dwarves, he was entirely too endearing sometimes. "So you bought it simply because she said it would prove your love for me?"

Thorin shot him a quick little grin and nodded. Honestly… such sweetness should not be allowed!

"Daft thing," Bilbo murmured indulgently then smiled and then twirled the key in his fingers, explaining it to the confused dwarf. "It is a charm of sorts. We give it to those we love as a 'key to the heart', it's symbolic and basically means that whoever you give this to can unlock and own your heart."

"Ah, well I suppose that makes sense." Thorin seemed to accept the explanation easily enough, and if Bilbo thought it a rather silly gesture, Thorin seemed quite taken with it.

Bilbo gave Thorin a warm embrace, thanking him for the gifts before going to find a vase for the flowers.

As they were putting away the groceries ( _definitely_ too many treats), Bilbo explained the festival to Thorin in full. How it had originated from stories told by the men of the south. How they had happily taught the hobbits their traditions, and how overtime the hobbits had woven these together with their own ideas and festivities.

"… To be honest, considering Solmath is the 'mud-month' folk around here probably just wanted an excuse to celebrate something and take their minds off the miserable weather!"

Thorin handed Bilbo a bag full of cookies, but not before snagging one for himself. "I don't think there's anything wrong in that. This time of year can drag on rather; I think it's quite a fine idea to celebrate _something_ in order to make it more enjoyable."

"Oh, I'm not debating that, I just wish they would show so much devotion the rest of the year."

"I think it might be a little difficult to do anything as grand as this year round, Bilbo. Wouldn't it lose its meaning?"

"Well, true, but just small gestures little and often would likely be more gratefully received by people, don't you think?"

"Hmm, that is a good point." Thorin had finished the cookie and attempted to sneak another, Bilbo batted his hand away lightly.

"Enough of that, you bought far too many treats as is without eating them all yourself!"

"But you see that is why they need to be eaten then, otherwise they will go stale."

"You have the palate of a child, you do know that don't you?"

"A trait common in all dwarves, alas," Thorin agreed far too easily causing Bilbo to cast his dwarf a sidelong look and tut.

Bilbo's gaze landed on the flowers again as he left Thorin to finish putting away his purchases (and likely sampling them too), and could not help but feel a little guilty. Even without knowing the reasons for it, Thorin had readily purchased gifts for Bilbo, simply because he cared for him.

The hobbit felt warmth grow in his chest and nodding to himself resolutely, let Thorin know he would just be in the garden if he was needed.

This time of year there were not many plants that could be grown without the aid of a greenhouse, it was how the hobbits grew flowers for the festival among other things.

Most greenhouses were located outside Hobbiton in the surrounding farmland. However, Bilbo was fortunate enough to own a very small one of his own, situated at the back of his garden.

Usually, the hobbit used it to grow more delicate plants from seed, and then later transfer them to his garden once the weather warmed up. It was simply good luck that he had planted some more ornamental flowers this year, and though he was not over keen on the idea of cutting them, he took solace in the fact that Thorin would enjoy the gift.

Taking care to choose flowers he felt meant something to both of them, Bilbo arranged them as prettily as possible and bound the stalks together with some twine.

Sneaking back into the smial, Bilbo headed for the spare room, where little trinkets from his parents were still kept.

He remembered vividly how his father would always gift his mother with thoughtful mathoms every Solmath, and how his mother would do the same in return.

There was one mathom he could remember holding particular significance, and he felt Thorin should have that.

It had been when Bilbo had been young, and his parents married for a good number of years. That Solmath, Bungo had given Belladonna a particularly fine key. He had claimed that although he had already given her one the first year they met, this one was a symbol of eternity.

Bilbo had not paid it any particular attention at the time, being young, petulant, and not understanding the emotion behind the pledge. However, he did recall his mother wore the little key around her neck for the rest of her days, and would often press a kiss to the cool metal, eyes growing fond and full of love in the years following Bungo's passing.

Rummaging through the chest at the end of the spare room bed, Bilbo eventually found it squirreled away in an envelope addressed to him. His mother had made him promise to give it to his love should he ever find one, and until he had been presented with a key of his own today, Bilbo had quite forgotten about it.

It was a very pretty thing, Bilbo thought, seeing it now in a new light. Finely made from silver and the elegant, curling shape of it was very pleasant to look upon. It was a small detail on the handle, which caught his eye though, and made him laugh incredulously. Acorns and oak leaves!

They always had loved the oak tree above Bag End, and the meaning of eternity and strength in that tree had obviously inspired Bungo to add the design to this key.

Shuffling into the parlour, Bilbo, feeling rather awkward and more than a little flustered, flopped unceremoniously down besides a reading Thorin, giving his shoulder a light nudge to gain his attention.

"I uh… thought you might like these… since it is the Festival of Solmath and well… I'm rather fond of you," Bilbo downplayed it all with a wry twist of his lips, Thorin chuckling at the awkwardness.

Thorin set aside his book, looking over the flowers with a semi-practiced eye and grinning at the meanings threaded throughout. Joy, passionate love, friendship, gratitude, regal, faithful, steadfast; all in a riot of colour.

He then noticed the key in Bilbo's other hand, and the hobbit noted his gaze and fumbled to explain. "It was my mother's, gifted to her by my father. She wanted me to give it to the one I loved when the time came, but I confess I had forgotten about it until you reminded me with the key you gave to me earlier. I'd be very happy if you-"

Bilbo was unable to finish his sentence, as Thorin was quick to tug Bilbo into an embrace, nuzzling at his hair and grinning from ear to ear. "And here I thought you didn't celebrate," Thorin teased, pressing a kiss to the side of Bilbo's neck. "I would happily accept that key, Bilbo."

"Careful now, you'll crush the flowers," Bilbo clucked his tongue, desperate to hide his blush, and got them out of harms way before returning the embrace. "A-and I don't celebrate… not usually. But since you gave me gifts it is only fair…"

Thorin laughed, smothering Bilbo's protests with a kiss, and then pulling back to speak properly.

"I can understand why you don't celebrate it, and really I suppose there is no real need. We love one another, and taking a whole day every year to try to prove that does seem a little odd. I think that perhaps your idea was better; we can prove it little and often all year round…"

He paused, eyes thoughtful and considering, and Bilbo felt his lips twitch as he recognised the look Thorin wore before he said anything ridiculous.

"I do hope you don't mind us getting all those treats on Solmath though, they are very good."

Trying hard not to laugh, Bilbo agreed. He was more than willing to compromise on that.


	15. Aged Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by thaneuerebor  
> Bilbo kissing age spots that appear on Thorin’s hands  
> Thorin complaining when he feels like he’s getting too old for Bilbo and then Bilbo just smacks him over his head  
> Tugging on grey braids and still kissing them nearly everyday  
> Bilbo teasing Thorin when he has wrinkles but always traces them with his fingertips and remarks how wise his old husband looks  
> Old dwarf and Hobbit husbands (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

The first time he notices one, Thorin takes to wearing gloves again; just as he had done all those years ago on the Quest.

Bilbo wonders if maybe he has burned himself whilst working the forge and wants to hide the evidence from a husband prone to fussing and fretting.

It would be a valid reason after all; Bilbo would be the first to own up to his natural inclination to mother others now that he was older. It seemed to be an inevitable by-product of age, this mothering, much the same as his own father had been wont to do.

Or possibly a certain formidable dwarf might be a more apt comparison; for although Bilbo was as much a worrier as his dear father, he had a fierce streak as remarkable as Dori's.

Not to mention stubborn…

Which is why, that very evening when they are curled together on the garden bench enjoying the last lingering tendrils of sunlight and birdsong, Bilbo moves quicker than a snake and catches Thorin unawares, removing the offending gloves whilst Thorin squawks in outrage.

There are no burns or cuts, nothing there that would have Bilbo scolding his dwarf for hiding. They are the same hands he has loved for so long; large, warm, gentle, and callused through hard work. Age had graced them with new lines and characteristics, the odd scar here and there (but then who wouldn't be prone to those as Thorin worked as a blacksmith and before that, a warrior king).

Thorin is offering protest and wriggling at Bilbo's side in a vain attempt to extricate his hands from Bilbo's. The hobbit grumbles a quiet admonishment and lightly smacks his knee, trying to puzzle over what has Thorin so upset.

Ah, that could be it.

On his left hand, between the juncture of the thumb and forefinger was a mark Bilbo had not noticed before; not a scar, but Bilbo remembered his own great uncles and cousins developing them with age.

Men call them 'age spots', (hobbits however had a far more pleasant and in his not so humble opinion, accurate name for them: 'sun kisses').

They developed when one attained a certain age and had spent a lot of their life working outside. Gardeners and farmers were very prone to them, and so too were retired dwarf kings it seemed.

"This is what you're fretting over?" Bilbo gives a tolerant huff and taps the spot with his finger.

With some chagrined mumbling and hesitant explanations, Thorin confesses that yes, this is what he is concerned about.

"You do realise, darling, that this is nothing to be ashamed of?"

"Men view them as a sign of old age and weariness of the body. I thought that perhaps hobbits would think the same… that you would find it… distasteful?"

"Well you can thank your Maker that hobbits are a great deal more sensible than men! Distasteful indeed! This is nothing more than a sign of a life well lived, 'sun kisses' we call 'em. Now if you're quite done worrying yourself over something so-"

Thorin's smile is ridiculously charming and Bilbo is far too old to be feeling that age old fluttering in his stomach, as if he were naught but a foolish tween. "You really do not mind them?"

" _Mind them?_ Thorin I just told you how hobbits see them, if you ask me things such as this only make you look distinguished and more handsome in my eyes."

Just to prove his point, Bilbo lifts Thorin's hand and brushes his lips over the mark and Thorin's answering grin is brighter than the sun that had kissed his skin.

 

* * *

 

"I am too old for you, you know."

"Of course you're too old for me, you're a dwarf. If I were nearing a century and a half, you'd still be thought of as too old for me," Bilbo's reply was decidedly matter of fact and it took considerable willpower for Thorin not to pout.

"That was… very blunt."

"Yes, because it is the answer such a foolish remark deserves. You are vexing yourself over minutiae again, my dear. What does it matter how old you are?"

"Because I cannot help but feel you deserve someone younger… better."

The light smack upside his head was decidedly blunt, and Thorin frowns at his husband.

"I am being serious. You are younger and look wonderful for your age, Bilbo. Why in the world did you decide to settle for-"

"Finish that question and I am withholding dessert. I made blackberry crumble, and if you wish to go without then please feel free to continue this folly in self-deprecation."

To Bilbo's amusement, Thorin stopped speaking immediately, though it seemed to be something of an effort.

Taking pity on the dwarf, Bilbo decided the least he could do was ease Thorin's concerns and answer the unfinished question.

"I did not _settle_ for you, Thorin. To be quite honest _I_ was astounded when you showed regard for _me_! Bilbo Baggins an unremarkable, fussy, grumpy, little hobbit of the Shire being chosen by a great king of dwarves; it is hardly something that occurs everyday. You do realise I could ask you the same question. Why did you settle for me? I realise now though, that you did not _settle_. You love me as I love you, and quite frankly I don't think our difference in ages has much to do with anything."

The hobbit paused to approach Thorin and push himself up onto his toes to peck the tip of his nose; his knees protested a little, but it was for a good cause so he paid the discomfort no mind.

"You know full well how over the years there have been a handful who have thought our relationship an oddity and unbefitting for whatever reason they chose to give us. Do not give them the satisfaction of having your own doubts, love. _You_ are kind, loyal, brave, still devilishly handsome, and make a wonderful husband… well when you're not delaying our dinner with self-doubting remarks that is," Bilbo teased and rubbed his nose to Thorin's, grinning.

Slowly, Thorin's gaze grew wondering, and before Bilbo could stop him, Thorin had hoisted him into his arms and spun them around, laughing and gushing his own praises about his hobbit husband.

"If you throw your back out, I'm not being held responsible!" Bilbo shouted, but could not contain his own laughter.

It was fortunate that Thorin did not hurt himself, Bilbo thought a short time later as they shared portions of the aforementioned crumble. The dwarf always got so grouchy when he couldn't go into the forge.

"I thought we had sorted out this preoccupation with your age when we discussed the sun kisses?" Bilbo wondered at length.

"The worries over my sun kisses were put to rest well enough, but I have always had trouble in believing that you could still love and old dwarf so."

It was most unbecoming and as ill mannered as Thorin's now older and wiser nephews had once been, but Bilbo flicked a small spoonful of crumble at Thorin regardless. The dwarf yelped, but quickly swiped the smear of dessert from where it had landed on his cheek and shrugged before eating it.

"Do not doubt my love for you please, Thorin," despite the petty vengeance of flicking dessert at his husband, Bilbo's words were gentle. "It does not matter to me how old you are, I have loved you all these years and _still_ love you. So long as you feel that way for me then so shall I for you. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

Thorin ducked his head, cheeks flushing. "Well, considering you make such good dessert and say such lovely things, I don't think that's a bad fate."

 

* * *

 

After that, Thorin no longer lamented his age or questioned Bilbo's love for him. Just as Bilbo did not question his worth when he found that his hair was turning completely silver and starting to look more like cotton fluff than curls.

Bilbo would still lightly tug Thorin's braids and press his lips to them and the beads holding them in place.

Thorin would still insist on picking Bilbo up every chance he got and ignoring the complaints from his back and legs.

Now that they were both content with their age and the looks that came with it, Bilbo would gently tease Thorin for the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He would trace gentle fingertips over the furrows in Thorin's skin and claim they made him look old and wise. However, he would also swear that Thorin couldn't possibly smile that often to have developed such wonderful laughter lines, for he was as curmudgeonly as Bilbo was in most matters. To which Thorin would state it was largely Bilbo's fault they were there, thus causing the hobbit to blush and stutter complaints.

If you were to ask either of them, they would say they had aged very well, and intended to keep on doing so together.


	16. Say it with Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on lovelylilpup's prompt:  
> After seeing those envelopes with the flowers in them, I'm thinking about Bilbo sending Thorin flowers, with specific meanings, that he knows the dwarf wont know, so.. secret love confessions on our hobbit’s part!
> 
> Note: Please disregard the improbability of Middle Earth (and especially the area around Erebor) having all these different flowers. It’s a fantasy world, let’s just go with that excuse and concentrate on the fluff instead! ;)

It started with an acorn in an envelope left upon his windowsill. 

And really that was all Thorin needed in order to guess _who_ was the sender of the strange little gift. 

The _why_ escaped him just as much as the meaning behind it, but Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror could always appreciate a friendly gesture when it was presented to him, no matter how odd a gesture it may be. 

_Hobbits…_ Came the exasperated yet fond thought. And so it was that Thorin thought little more on the gift for the time being.

After all, there was not really anything to think on. Bilbo had decided to stay in Erebor for the time being and as they were close friends now, Thorin was always willing to let Bilbo into his rooms. This being the case, the fact that the acorn had appeared on his living room windowsill did not faze him in the slightest, as Bilbo was a frequent visitor. Furthermore, the idea of Bilbo bestowing the acorn upon Thorin was not something that concerned the dwarf king overly much; Bilbo was a hobbit with his own culture and ways of doing things. It was probably just a good luck charm or a reminder for him of times past. 

The next envelope contained not nut or seed, but flowers. 

Again, this was cause for Thorin to guess Bilbo was behind the gift. Dwarves did not usually give flowers, but he supposed hobbits would do such a thing if Bilbo's talk of their love for growing green things were any indication. 

Delicate pink flowers with rounded petals, darker at the centre and paler at the tips mingled there with yellow flowers that bore a multitude of tiny thin petals. Amongst them were a few strange flowers Thorin had seen growing in the mountain. They had long white petals that were as soft and fuzzy as cotton. 

Thorin ran a finger along one of these petals as he pondered the gift. It was unusual to a dwarf but perhaps not so to a hobbit. 

Well, it would be rude to refuse such a thing… 

Thorin gladly kept them. 

When they began to fade some days later, he felt oddly upset, and so asked Óin how to best preserve them. With the healer using many herbs in his medicines, he was bound to know. 

As expected, the older dwarf did not disappoint, and showed the king a way to carefully dry the flowers and place them in a book for safekeeping. Thorin was pleased by this solution and did as instructed to keep his gift forevermore. 

These flowers were not the last by any means however.

 

* * *

 

The next time Thorin found an envelope it was filled with daffodils that Thorin knew of, and other flowers he did not. Little flowers, which were an attractive blend of purple and yellow, their petals arranged almost like a friendly face. Beautiful flowers the colour of the sky, so small Thorin was afraid he might crush them; there was a sprig of a plant with spiky leaves and dark red berries, and even more pretty foliage he could not name but somehow felt had been picked especially with him in mind. 

Thorin admired the flowers, smiling at the gesture, and set to work preserving them.

 

* * *

 

The envelopes arrived quite regularly, but not at any set day or time. Every time there were new flowers to admire and preserve, and every time Thorin found himself wondering what in the world all of this meant. 

He enjoyed the gifts immensely despite the confusion they caused him, and even though he saw Bilbo very often, he did not have the nerve to question the hobbit about his gifts.

 

* * *

 

It was Ori who unintentionally revealed to Thorin that there was some deeper meaning to his gifts than he may have first thought. 

The king had gone to the library in order to read some old treaties. There, in amongst the stacks and shelves of tablets, scrolls, books, and no small amount of dust, was Ori's desk. 

The young dwarf sat there, scribbling furiously in a large tome, ink staining his hands and a look of utter concentration on his face. Beside him, near the inkwell was a small vase full of flowers and Thorin's brow rose at the sight. Had Bilbo been giving flowers to others in the Company as well? 

… If so, why did that notion cause an uncomfortable heaviness to settle in his chest? 

"Ori," Thorin began, intending to gain the oblivious scribe's attention.

Said scribe yelped and Thorin fought not to chuckle as his quill flew from his hand and to the floor.

"My apologies, Ori; I did not intend to startle you," Thorin bent and retrieved the quill, handing it back to the quietest member of his Company.

"Oh, it's quite alright, Thorin. I was completely lost in thought there." 

Thorin was eternally grateful that his closest companions had agreed to forego formalities after his coronation. If he had had to endure a future of those he had fought and bled with bowing and calling him 'Your Majesty', such a thing would have become disagreeable very quickly. They were his friends and family first and foremost, and in his opinion one did not lord over their family, nor should their family hold him in any higher regard from anyone else who had come on the Quest.

Thorin inclined his head in response and tried again. "Ori, I was wondering where you got those flowers from." 

"Oh! These were from Bilbo, lovely aren't they," Ori grinned and Thorin felt that heaviness in his chest increase just a little, though he could not think why. 

"Yes, they're very nice…" 

"Did you want to know what they mean? Bilbo explained them to me," Ori continued genially, clearly not noticing the slightly stilted quality in Thorin's voice. 

"What they mean?" Thorin's mouth had gone oddly dry at that. 

The flowers Bilbo had given Ori actually _meant_ something? 

"Yes, it's a hobbit thing, funny folk aren't they. Apparently, in the Shire hobbits use flowers as a way to communicate. A sort of made up language if you will… Every flower has a different meaning, and you can tell someone a lot by giving them a bouquet such as this," he indicated to his own bunch of flowers with a wave of his hand and Thorin's eyes became transfixed on them. 

So intent was his gaze upon the innocuous looking flowers that the king failed to notice the mischievous and knowing little grin pulling at Ori's lips.

 _That poor sap… he doesn't even realise it himself_ , Ori thought fondly of their leader.

Generous as the young dwarf was, he decided to put their clearly stricken king out of his misery. 

"This one here means _innocence, trust, and friendship_ and this one _endurance_ ," Ori pointed to each flower in turn, as he listed their meanings. "This one is _valour, wisdom, and friendship_ , this is _wit_ , and this is _useful knowledge_ …" 

Ori continued, and though there were many overtures to friendship in his bouquet, and flowers portraying what Bilbo thought of Ori, Thorin was incongruously relieved that none signified romantic love.

The words were out of his mouth before Thorin was consciously aware that he had even spoken. "I was wondering, after hearing you explain all these, are there any flowers that mean love? O-of the romantic kind?" 

Ori had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from grinning. "Oh yes, there's plenty that represent love… Say," Ori hummed as if he had just thought of it. "Bilbo loaned me a book of his that he had delivered from the Shire. He said he could not bear to be without it as it was a favourite of his mother's… but he let me borrow it so that I could read up more on flower meanings after I had expressed an interest." 

Thorin's eyes were fixed on Ori this time, and the young dwarf felt something like triumph rush through his veins. Their king really could not be more obvious if he tried! 

"I'm sure Bilbo wouldn't mind you borrowing it, since you're so interested and all that," Ori speculated and reached down to rummage through a drawer in his desk, producing a wonderfully crafted leather book moments later. 

Thorin wordlessly accepted it as it was handed to him and nodded as if in agreement. 

"Just make sure you give it back to me when you're finished. Bilbo will want it returned eventually," Ori beamed as Thorin thanked him and left the library without even collecting the treaties he had come for.

 

* * *

 

Once meetings had finished for the day, Thorin retired to his rooms anxious to read up on Bilbo's flowers. 

Taking the acorn from out of the little wooden box he kept it in upon his mantle, Thorin rolled it around his palm, admiring it before settling down with Ori's (or rather Bilbo's) book on the language of flowers. 

He turned the old and yellowed pages reverently, pausing to admire the finely painted details given to each flower and seed. It was a beautiful book; clearly, every care had been taken to make it both practical and lovely to read. 

Eventually, Thorin flipped back to the beginning and found the entry he was looking for. His first gift…

Acorns meant _life and immortality_. Providing Bilbo wished for this to convey something other than a simple gift, then perhaps the hobbit was wishing him a long and healthy life? 

That was kind of him… 

Then came the more difficult task of identifying each flower he had been presented with before he read their meanings. 

The easiest was the strange white, fuzzy flower. It was known to hobbits as the 'wool flower', or rather charmingly, 'cat's paws'. Its meaning was _daring, courage, and nobility_. 

Is this what the hobbit thought of him? 

Thorin wetted suddenly dry lips, an uncertain fluttering in his stomach as he went meticulously through the book to find more of his flowers. Next, he found azalea, its message conveyed _take care of yourself_ and Thorin had to smile. Surely, he was not so reckless with his own wellbeing that he needed a reminder in flower form?

Then came chrysanthemum, it had no discernable colour and so Thorin supposed it would be under the general meaning _you are a wonderful friend_.

That gave Thorin pause. He had not always been thus. In fact, upon first meeting, he and Bilbo barely spoke to each other… 

_I suppose time changes people, and their perception of the other._

And so Thorin continued. 

It did not take long for the first surprise to greet him. 

_Affection_ stared up at him from the pages, yet Thorin tried not to think too much on it. After all, hadn't Ori's bouquet also contained something to do with affection? 

Still, Thorin felt an inexplicable bubble of hope start to rise within him, and trying to push it aside, Thorin continued with his study of flowers.

 _Regard_ was next, followed by _Hope_

And then… 

_You occupy my thoughts_

Thorin's breath caught, but he still tampered down that ridiculous hopefulness… of course Bilbo thought of him… they were friends they… 

_Devotion  
_

_Secret Love  
_

_I Love You, Love Me, Kiss Me_

Well… that might explain a few things then…

 

* * *

 

Really, he should not have been surprised to learn what Bilbo was trying to tell him. The signs had been there for quite some time now. It was only Thorin who had been too oblivious to see it, and so Bilbo had tried to tell him; though naturally his uncertainty of Thorin's regard for him had prompted him to do so in the most enigmatic way possible. 

The signs had been there indeed; from Bilbo's decision to stay, to his frequent visits to Thorin's rooms. Their prolonged talks and gentle teasing of one another spoke volumes, as did the silly jokes and warm embraces. Lingering touches happened between him and none of the other Company members, only Bilbo, and the mere thought of having the hobbit close by; be it for aid in paperwork, eating together, or simple companionship, brought such joy to Thorin he was surprised he had not thought on it more before now.

The little knot; the bud of warmth in his heart, a place that had been reserved especially for Bilbo for a long time now, blossomed. 

The only question remained was; what could Thorin do about it? 

Perhaps… since flowers had been the question, then flowers should be the answer…

 

* * *

 

Ori had been cataloguing some old tablets when Bilbo had found him, the hobbit nattering on happily about some seeds Beorn had sent him from his garden. 

"It will help the desolation recover no end, let me tell you!" Bilbo fairly squeaked with exuberance. "I mean I know we've done wonders with it, planting as much as we have already, but Beorn's gardens were just such a sight to behold that I just _know_ these plants will flourish all the more!" 

It was fate perhaps, that Bilbo then noticed the vase of flowers on Ori's desk. 

"Goodness, they surely haven't lasted as long as this, have they?" the hobbit paused in his joyous rambling about planting in the desolation to gently touch one of the freesia's petals with a forefinger. 

"No, no. I'm afraid yours wilted some time ago. I've just grown fond of them, so I used that book of yours to find more to replenish them every time they die." 

"Oh, well that makes sense. Ah, speaking of which, might I have the book back? I was hoping to look up a few meanings I had forgotten for… for my cousin. He wrote to me asking my advice you see," Bilbo's ruse was a weak one. 

He was planning to give more flowers to Thorin. 

Ori smiled, and drawled as innocently as he knew how. "So sorry, Bilbo, I haven't got your book at the moment. I lent it to Thorin; he was mighty interested in learning flower meanings after he asked me about the ones in my vase here."

Ori wondered if it was normal for hobbits to change skin tone so quickly. His friend went from his normal shade, to bright red, then very very pale, all the while gaping like a fish out of water. 

"Y-you wha- you _lent it to Thorin_!?" the incredulous question was in a tone quite shrilly and Ori adamantly refused to give himself away now by laughing. He had a feeling that vengeance from a hobbit would be a very unpleasant thing. 

Therefore, Ori did what he always used to do when he got in trouble as a lad; he tilted his head to one side and widened his eyes most imploringly. "Was I not meant to?" 

Bilbo uttered a tiny, strangled sound of panic. A sound so pitiful that Ori _almost_ felt sorry for what he had done. _Almost_ … 

_Someone_ needed to help those two poor fools out, after all! 

Without another word, Bilbo shook his head vehemently and then charged from the library as if a pack of wargs were on his tail. Ori waited until he was well out of sight before grinning the most mischievous grin he had likely every sported. It wasn't only Nori who could be devious in their family.

 

* * *

 

Thorin saw him as soon as he entered his rooms that evening. It seemed Bilbo had let himself in and although Thorin was all too pleased to see him, the hobbit looked uncharacteristically shifty and shy, and not quite able to meet his gaze. 

Almost at once, Thorin knew precisely why he was there. 

Bilbo had tried so hard to speak with his flowers, but he had essentially been speaking a foreign language to Thorin; one of which Thorin did not know a single word. It seemed he had half-hoped Thorin would _not_ understand, yet had tried all the same to say what he felt without speaking and facing outright rejection. 

"If you have something to say, I am listening," Thorin murmured quietly, deciding that gently prompting Bilbo might help him speak plainly. 

Bilbo's lips parted but no sound came for a time, just a mute miming of speech that would have looked quite ridiculous had Thorin not been so utterly besotted. 

Unwilling to make Bilbo voice the words when he clearly felt pressured and quite likely afraid of being rebuffed; Thorin decided to do the courteous thing and give his reply to spare the hobbit his worries. 

A step forward, a hand brought round from behind his back where he had kept the flower from sight, and Bilbo made a strange hiccoughing noise at the sight of the bloom being presented to him. 

Ambrosia. 

_Your love is reciprocated._

At least this was the meaning if Thorin had read his book correctly and chosen the correct flower. 

He supposed it must be, if Bilbo's reaction was anything to gauge matters by; because the hobbit had very nearly knocked him off his feet in his haste to embrace him, and the warm insistent press of Bilbo's lips to his were the most wonderful thing Thorin had ever felt.


	17. Jar of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can read this one as a continuation of the writer and artist!AU :3 from Chapter Four: 'Artistically Noteworthy' if you like. I would imagine they have been together a couple of years now by the time the events in this chapter happen.
> 
> Based off a prompt about your OTP making a jar full of paper origami hearts.

Suffice it to say perhaps, that whilst Bilbo Baggins had a romantic soul in the truest sense of the word, he was not quite as romantic when it came to gift giving. 

He did try, but in his humble opinion, gifts always seemed that much more meaningful when they were actually practical or needed rather than inconsequential trinkets that might just end up gathering dust somewhere. 

Unfortunately, Valentine's Day had never really been about _practical_. It was entirely the realm of frivolous and fancy; chocolates, elaborate cards, ridiculously large teddy bears, wilting flowers, and empty gestures. 

That being the case, Bilbo always found himself completely stumped when it came to trying to find something momentous for his partner. 

He was in so much trouble… Valentine's Day was _tomorrow_ and he _still_ could not find anything worth buying for Thorin. 

Not that Thorin would care of course, but it was the _principle_ of the darn thing! Thorin _always_ found him such lovely gifts; or else he would actually make him something, creative man that he was. 

Bilbo was creative in his own way of course, he was a writer after all. However, writing something _for_ someone had always been a talent he found difficult to master. He loved all aspects of writing: novels, poetry, short stories, but for the life of him he could not _make_ himself write when it counted! The words had to come to him of their own accord, such was the fickle nature of the way his mind worked, and so Bilbo had long ago stopped trying to write Thorin poetry.

The shops in town had been equally as unhelpful… 

Therefore, that left the minefields of eBay, Amazon, and the vain hopes that the Royal Mail would actually do good on their promise of 'next day delivery' and not leave poor Mr. Baggins present-less when Valentine's Day rolled round tomorrow. 

Bilbo let out a pitiful whine at the mere sight of the fifth page of cheesy gifts he was scrolling through and let his head fall onto folded arms in a dramatic pose of defeat. 

It was no good; he would just have to promise to do Thorin's chores for a week or something and hope his loving partner took pity on him and would not tease too much over his failure. 

Hands working of their own accord, as they so often did when he was fretting over something; Bilbo found himself twisting and folding a scrap of notepaper that lay before him as he sat back up and glared unseeing at the eBay page on his laptop screen. 

Honestly, why was it so difficult to find something? It wasn't as if he was asking for the moon! Just a simple present worthy enough to give Thorin, he meant a lot to him and he wanted a way to show that. How his gaze would soften and his eyes would smile, the silly jokes he would tell to cheer Bilbo up after a difficult day, the way his hair looked after he'd just woken up-

Oh!

Inspiration struck as Bilbo looked down at his fidgeting hands. The mess of paper now vaguely resembled a heart… 

He remembered Ori teaching him origami some years ago, a way to relax but keep the mind and hands busy, the fellow writer had claimed.

Bilbo had nearly forgotten about it until now… 

Right, he nodded to himself suddenly, a plan forming in his mind. Right, that was good enough. It wasn't practical but it _was_ meaningful; he just hoped Thorin would like it…

 

* * *

 

"Thorin! You, you-"

"Don't worry, I didn't spend a lot of money, I know you hate that," Thorin's hands were held up in an appeasing gesture, but his grin was mischievous. "Well, I _did_ pay for it to be resized, but that wasn't too much." 

Bilbo was not sure if he should swat the insufferable man over the head with his newspaper for this, or kiss him.

Without much fanfare or little warning (Bilbo never had liked a fuss and Thorin knew it well enough by now), Bilbo had looked up blearily from his morning coffee in time to see Thorin unceremoniously place a ring on top of his newspaper. 

An absolutely gorgeous and entirely _expensive_ looking ring! The band was quite thick, and quite art deco in design… maybe 1920's Bilbo mused. He had at first thought it to be silver, but the shine of it was too bright; platinum then his mind supplied. In the very centre was a gem, some kind of opal by the look of it. It fairly glowed in the morning light streaming in through the window, and it's many coloured fires within changed when he picked the ring up reverently to turn it this way and that; each turn catching the sunlight differently. 

"It was my grandmother's," Thorin explained without any prompting. "After she died, grandfather gave it to me and made me promise to give it to someone worthwhile. I really can't think of anyone else I'd rather give it to." 

Bilbo gaped up at him, brain still not quite awake enough to be dealing with this. His heart was fluttering like a caged bird however, and he found he was smiling when he noticed Thorin's cheeks were red and his gaze was shyly averted. 

"If- if it's not to your tastes or too- feminine or something, that is fine, you don't have to accept it, I just thought-" 

Bilbo nearly upset his coffee in his haste to stand and wrap his arms around Thorin. 

"Of _course_ I accept it you great sap!" Bilbo cupped Thorin's jaw and pressed a dozen or so kisses over his face, making the taller man chuckle and redden even more. "The only problem is that now my gift looks paltry by comparison!"

"You do realise this is not a competition," Thorin teased and returned the kisses gently before taking the ring from Bilbo and slipping it over his finger. "Ah, good, I wasn't sure it would fit since I couldn't exactly ask you about it…" 

It was not intended to be a proposal, this they both knew, but it could well be. Their relationship was relaxed in that way; they drifted from one milestone to the next almost as naturally as breathing, and frankly, it would not surprise Bilbo if the pair of them just decided to marry on a whim one day without telling anyone else (Dís and her boys might throttle them for it though). 

"I know it's not a competition," Bilbo pretended to pout. "You always think up such wonderful gifts though, and all I got you- well made you actually, was this…" 

Bilbo pulled away from Thorin in order to retrieve his present from where it was hidden beneath the kitchen table. He plonked it down in front of Thorin and took to fidgeting as he awaited judgement.

Thorin blinked in mild surprise and picked up the gift to look it over. Bilbo had given him a clear glass jar, a ribbon tied about the neck to make it look more festive, and inside… was a lot of folded craft paper. Red craft paper, a nice hue, hundreds of tiny strips of it folded into heart shapes. 

Thorin was grinning; it was a sweet gift, and must have taken Bilbo quite some time to fold all the paper, but he didn't quite understand…

"Oh, open it you great lummox, and read them!" It was Bilbo's turn to blush and he had turned away, nibbling his lower lip; a habit borne out of nervousness, as he anticipated what Thorin would think of it. 

Unscrewing the lid, Thorin pulled out one of the tiny paper hearts and set the jar down before he unfolded the paper as carefully as possible.

In Bilbo's rounded, elegant calligraphy were two words _'your smile'_.

"Bilbo?" 

"Just… just look at another…" 

Obediently, Thorin set aside the first heart and fished out another, unfolding it to see: ' _your kindness'_. 

The flush which had started to fade returned full force as realisation began to settle in Thorin's mind. Another heart: _'your gorgeous eyes_ ', and another: ' _your honour and loyalty'_ , and another ' _your artistic talent_ ', and more still… 

' _The silver in your hair_ ', 

_'Your voice'_ , 

_'Your gentle hands'_ , 

"They- they're-"

"I decided to try and write everything I love about you so you could remind yourself of it whenever you feel doubt… I er… I may have run out of paper before I could get it all down in words though," Bilbo coughed awkwardly, lips pulling up irresistibly into a soft smile.

Bilbo was surrounded by warmth before he could utter another word on the matter, warm lips trailing down the column of his throat as Thorin nuzzled at him and held him close, his voice oddly hoarse when he spoke. "Thank you, Bilbo." 

"Well… it's no beautiful family ring but… I thought it meant something so- hm yes… Happy Valentine's Day, dear."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Bilbo."

 

* * *

 

Sometime later once all the hearts had been read and re-folded and returned to the jar, and once breakfast had been eaten and a dozen or so more kisses shared; Thorin's face turned mischievous and Bilbo narrowed his eyes at the warning sign. 

"A jar of hearts, hm?" slow and teasing turned Thorin's grin as he cleared his throat and took a breath. 

Bilbo knew as soon as he did what was going to happen; that twinkle in Thorin's eye and daft grin gave him away. "No! No don't you _dare_ , Thorin-"

Thorin usually had a very fine voice when he sang. However, he did like to embarrass friends and family even more, and so took to singing loud and off-key when he was joking with them. " _Who do you think you are? Runnin' 'round leaving scars, collecting your jar of hearts-_ " 

He leapt to his feet and dodged as Bilbo swiped at him with a pillow, still singing far too loudly and laughing with it. 

"I take it back!" Bilbo proclaimed, trying to hold in his own laughter as he tried to stop his idiot beloved from continuing the assault on his ears through force of pillow alone. "I take it all back, you're a menace!" 

" -… _'Cause you broke all your promises, and now you're back-_ " 

"I'm going to have that bloody song stuck in my head every time I look at that gift now!" 

Suffice it to say perhaps, that although both Thorin and Bilbo had romantic souls, they were not above acting like idiots even when trying to prove that romance to one another.


	18. Knitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From alkjira's prompt: Since Bilbo was not overly fond of the jewelry Thorin made for him Thorin decided to find another way to present Bilbo with handmade tokens of his love and appreciation (he looked pleadingly at Ori until he taught him how to knit).
> 
> Knitting is also very relaxing *nods*
> 
> And a few years down the line Thorin is an expert knitter, but Bilbo still has the wonky hat and the twisted scarf and what was supposed to be a shirt tucked away in a drawer, because Thorin made them for him and he will treasure them always (just not wear them because somehow the shirt had three sleeves).

Thorin would be the first to admit that he was rather fond of spoiling Erebor's resident hobbit.

It might be because the hobbit had proven himself worthy time and again, both as a member of his Company and as a companion, it might be because said hobbit had recently become consort to Erebor's king and it was naturally a husband's prerogative to want to spoil their spouse… Or it could just be that Thorin was ridiculously sentimental and loved to bestow gifts upon any he thought worthy of them and of course, Bilbo fit that description more than perfectly.

The problem being was that Bilbo was not a dwarf. The types of gifts that would normally impress his kin held little sway over a hobbit. Oh, Bilbo gratefully received any gift he was given, true enough. He adored most things his husband made him. However, Thorin could tell that the hobbit's humble roots were still held close and dear to his heart; it was not jewels or grand titles Bilbo wished for, but simple things. 

Books, armchairs, gardens… 

Food and clothing never went amiss either, but again simplicity was best. Asking the finest cooks in Erebor to present his beloved with a feast, or commissioning Dori to create a new wardrobe for Bilbo would be accepted with thanks, but never as with as much enthusiasm as a simple cup of tea and biscuits or a warm, hand-made cloak. 

It was no great surprise when Thorin decided that the best way to please Bilbo then was to learn to make such simple pleasures himself…

For the first time in his life, Ori regretted ever learning how to knit. 

Thorin pestered him on a near daily basis for weeks after stubbornly deciding his next gift to Bilbo would be hand-made. He interrupted the young dwarf in the library, appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the hallways to question him and on one memorable occasion; he had somehow appeared in Dori's workshop whilst Ori was visiting his brother to fuss and panic over dropping a stitch and 'what do I do now, Ori!?'

Eventually the present was complete, and it had been in a state of crestfallen despair that Thorin had handed it over to his husband. Bilbo had been confused as to why Thorin was so despondent until he saw the reason… Somehow, and only the Valar likely knew how, Thorin had managed to create a jumper with three sleeves. 

"Um… well," 

"It is awful, I know. I just wanted you to see that I had tried. You may discard it, Bilbo… I honestly have no idea how I- I think perhaps I was half asleep and-" 

"Oh, Thorin-" Bilbo had to bite his lip hard to keep from laughing in Thorin's face. It was pretty badly made that much was true, but he could not bring himself to break his husband's heart so. 

Affectionately, Bilbo kissed the crease between Thorin's brows to soften the expression. 

"You did your very best, I'm sure, and the colour of the yarn is beautiful… it's so soft too. I really like it," he meant it sincerely; for even if the jumper was rather a disaster in knitting, Thorin had poured all his effort and love into creating it for him, and really that is all that mattered. 

Thorin's disheartened expression eased and he smiled tiredly, arms wrapping around Bilbo's middle and nuzzling his face into his belly as he looked up at him tiredly from his place seated on the couch. 

"I know it is poorly made, but I promise the next one will be better. 

"T-the next?" 

He should have guessed this would not end here, and though Bilbo inwardly cringed at the thought of more butchered knitted garments, the hopeful look in Thorin's tired eyes (the poor fool must have stayed awake all night to finish the jumper) melted Bilbo's heart. 

"Oh, of course, the next; I look forward to it, dear."

 

* * *

 

All it had taken was a great deal of patience and practice, Bilbo surmised a few years later (now a great deal richer in knitted clothing and accessories).

Thorin had been as good as his word, spending a lot of his free time perfecting his technique and taking to the challenge with the same dogged determination he might reserve for swordplay or working out disagreements amongst the kingdoms' various guilds. 

Bilbo was not sure Ori would ever be quite recovered from his role as teacher though, poor thing. 

Now, Bilbo could safely say that his husband could actually knit well; well enough even to put a few grandmothers back in the Shire to shame. 

Surprisingly, the king found it relaxing, or so he told Bilbo. The gentle clacking of knitting needles and the repetitive motions of creating a pattern seemed to calm Thorin even after the most trying days, and this Bilbo could appreciate a great deal. 

He really was good at it now, Bilbo thought, snuggling under a thick woollen blanket Thorin had made as he watched his husband knit yet another jumper (not for him though, this one was going to be for Kíli's first child). 

Bilbo had still kept Thorin's first disastrous forays into knitting, and when feeling particularly wicked he would dig them out of his wardrobe to tease Thorin with them, much to the dwarf's horror. The three-sleeved jumper still resided there, unworn but much loved, as did his following gift; a scarf, which was rather twisted, wider at one end than the other. A hat lived there too, which was decidedly wonky and had never sat right upon his head. However, each and every item was dearly cherished and Thorin could easily laugh at his failures now that he had improved so much. 

So if Bilbo occasionally chose to jam the wonky hat on his head, or twine the terribly made scarf around his neck and wear them out much to Thorin's embarrassment, there was little the dwarf would do to stop him. He would merely roll his eyes and claim that if Bilbo took up a dwarven hobby any time soon, he would tease him mercilessly in revenge.


	19. Slow Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And emsie said; 'Hey I'll just write a page for this little ficlet' and Bilbo and Thorin muses said 'haha nice try, we're gonna make you stay up until 2am writing us being saps again, fool!' and Balin was a horrible horrible enabler and now I can't see straight anymore. So this is why this chapter is probably full of mistakes. Sorry!

"Generally speaking the dances of the Shire are quick in order to meet our up-tempo music; I cannot honestly say I've ever heard of 'slow dancing'." Bilbo's words held in them an element of curiosity that Thorin had learnt to correctly gauge over the year they had spent in one another's company. 

The hobbit was attempting to keep his tone nonchalant, but Thorin could tell he was inquisitive about the idea of a different kind of dance. 

"Somehow that does not surprise me. The little I saw of your people led me to believe they would be as rambunctious as a herd of dwarflings if given food, music, and liquor in any sufficient quantity." 

"You say that as if it were a bad thing," Bilbo narrowed his eyes playfully at the recently crowned king of Erebor and Thorin tried his best not to let his amusement show.

Their battles won and home beginning its' restoration was a joyous event despite all the trials they had faced, and so an impromptu celebration had been arranged for the survivors once every injured party was deemed well enough to participate. 

Thorin himself had only recently been released from the infirmary, one of the last, and if he were being honest with himself; he still did not feel quite up to the fierce abandon and merriment with which a lot of their number seemed to be displaying. 

From his vantage point at the head of the room seated on an elevated chair, Thorin could see most of the Company dancing in the hall amongst the large throng of bodies that made up the celebration. Dwarves, residents of Lake-town, and (Mahal help him) even a fair number of elves spun about the room in time to a decidedly fast piece of music that a number of Dain's folk had decided to play on borrowed instruments. 

Thorin was willing to wager that they had chosen such music as a subtle competition of sorts, to see which race could outlast the others in the dancing. 

With injuries still on the mend, Thorin had not participated in any dance thus far and was relieved to see that he was not the only one. Fíli and Kíli, still recovering from their own wounds, had chosen to leave the dancing to the likes of Nori and Bofur. The thief and miner had at some point, clasped hands and were spinning very fast in a circle; careening into anyone who dared step in the path of their somewhat drunken rotation. Kíli was jeering at them from his place by the dance floor where he sat with his head resting on the shoulder of a certain redheaded elf. Fíli was whooping and clapping in time to the music, cheering them on. 

Bilbo, bless him, had decided that the dance floor was no place for a fellow as small as he during this particular set of music and so had decided to join Thorin to keep him company. He was seated beside him now commentating on the events unfolding in the hall with a carefree cheer that had been woefully lacking during their quest. Indeed, the hobbit barely seemed to notice the impropriety he was displaying, having hopped up onto the expansive arm of the throne where he perched now smiling and positively impish as he swung his legs back and forth humming along to the tune. 

"You also say it like your lot are the paragons of sedate and exemplary behaviour," Bilbo added almost as an afterthought to their topic, waving a hand to indicate Bofur and Nori's wild flailing. "Those two are going to cause trouble just you wai- Ah! See there we go, stumbled right into Dwalin the daft buffoons." 

"Dwalin looks pleased," Thorin's voice was laced with sarcasm as the newly appointed Captain of the Guard levelled the two with a vaguely threatening look, theatrically cracked his knuckles, and then took off after them as they ran yelping, laughing, and screaming from the irate dwarf, dodging through the crowd to try and lose him. 

"Actually that's not as much of a stretch as you might think; I believe Dwalin has been looking for an excuse to knock some sense into them for a while now… looks like he finally got it," Bilbo chuckled conspiratorially and gave a cheerful wave to little Tilda who had been lifted up onto her father's shoulders. 

"I can well believe that," Thorin hummed and cast a surreptitious look at his companion. 

Bilbo really did look happy, and he supposed it was easy to see why. Now that the hobbit wasn't forced into daily life-threatening situations and had time to relax, eat properly, and stay somewhere safe, he positively flourished. He looked healthy; the frighteningly pale pallor of his skin and the dark circles beneath his eyes had been banished in the months since the battle and seemed to only improve even more as Thorin and his nephews had healed. He had been able to eat sufficiently to regain the worrying amount of weight he had lost whilst on the road, and now that he had found some clothes to suit both him and his environment (courtesy of Dori, Thorin suspected), Bilbo positively glowed. 

"Anyway," Bilbo turned his attention from his study of the dancing folk in the hall and back to Thorin. "What was it you were telling me about your dancing styles? You have slower dances or some such." 

"Ah, yes…" 

Thorin cleared his throat and tried to banish such foolish earlier thoughts of how well his friend looked and instead tried to concentrate on Bilbo's question… It was a little difficult given the hobbit's bright grin and flushed cheeks, but he managed tolerably well. 

"These dances are more common, it's true," he nodded towards the fast-paced dance everyone was participating in at that moment. "However, it seems to be a shared trait amongst dwarves, men, and even elves that slower dances are popular as well." 

"Elves? Oh dear, how you must loathe to share that with them," Bilbo teased and yelped when a scowling Thorin reached up to flick at his ear for the insolent comment. 

"Yes, elves… It is a dance usually performed by a pair and naturally the music for this type of dance would be a lot slower as well."

"Well, how do you dance it then, there can't be much rhythm to it, surely?" 

"Not so much… there are a few specific dances that are quite interesting and require a certain amount of grace and footwork, but generally this type of dance requires very minimal concentration or skill. It allows for partners to talk to one another you see." 

"Hm, well that doesn't sound too bad," Bilbo looked thoughtful. "I'm not entirely sure it would become popular back in the Shire though." 

That was something else Thorin had noticed. Before they had reached Erebor, if Bilbo talked of the Shire he would refer to it as 'back home' or 'my home'. Now though, it was as if Bilbo was merely mentioning some far away place, a place that no longer held as much significance to him. Thorin felt he probably should not feel as pleased about that as he did. The Shire _was_ Bilbo's home after all, and the dwarf king could not help but feel that he had stolen Bilbo away from it.

"You're fretting over something silly again, I can tell," Bilbo murmured from beside him. "If it's important I won't ask you to stop your brooding on it of course, but I have a feeling you're blaming yourself for something you don't need to again, so please don't do that." 

Bilbo's words were firm but kind and Thorin felt slightly startled that he could read him so easily. 

"You are far too perceptive for your own good, Bilbo." 

"Indeed, I have been told that. However, in this case I think I've just learnt to read _you_ personally quite well, that's all," Bilbo shrugged not seeming to realise how some might see this as a trait between a pair more intimately acquainted than just friends. "Your face goes very still and blank you know, but your eyes look sad and troubled when you start blaming yourself for something."

"As I said, perceptive," Thorin tried to smile but the action did not quite meet his eyes and Bilbo patted his arm in a consoling gesture. 

"If you do need to talk-" 

"I will be sure to come to you first," Thorin replied dutifully. Though he was slightly confused as to why Bilbo really did seem like the best idea when he had family all around him…

"Wonderful," Bilbo fairly chirped and sat a little straighter, the smile he had worn all evening back in place at Thorin's promise. 

From the other side of the hall there was a crash and a scuffle as Dwalin finally collared Bofur, Kíli's rambunctious laughter at the scene reaching them from across the room. 

"Since Your Majesty is resting, perhaps I'd better go stop Dwalin from tipping Bofur head first into an ale keg or something," Bilbo snickered and hopped lightly down from his seat on the arm of the throne. "Please do come and find me if you want to tell me more about those dances of yours." Not giving the king time to answer; Bilbo flashed him a quick smile and gave a polite bow, then scurried off the dais to weave through the crowd to prevent a potential fight from breaking out between their friends.

"You should ask him to dance," Thorin jolted as Balin appeared at his elbow as silent as a ghost. 

The elderly dwarf was red faced and a little breathless, causing Thorin to hide a grin. He had spied Dís cajoling Balin into dancing with her a while ago, reminiscent of when his sister had been naught but a young dwarfling. Unfortunately, it seemed Balin could no longer keep up with her exuberance as he once had and must have excused himself under the pretence of coming to talk to Thorin. 

Trying not to dwell on how Balin had worded his remark, Thorin replied. "I could not manage to dance as they are doing at the moment, much like Fíli and Kíli; I'm still not healed enough." 

"You know I don't mean for you to take a turn about the room as it is now. Wait until the slower music starts then ask him," there was mischief in the old dwarf's gaze and Thorin gave him a rather unimpressed look. 

"You are not at all subtle, Balin." 

"Why should I need to be subtle when you are as blunt as a rock to the head? He wants to know more about the dances, and you clearly wish to court him. Why not go ahead and take the chance." 

Thorin was not quite sure he liked it when his eldest friend and advisor was this forthright.

"Please tell me that is the ale talking."

"I've not had nearly enough of that to deal with your foolishness, laddie. I am simply telling you straight. He likes you, he was trying to hint for you to ask him but as usual, it sailed right over your regal head. Now, I think it would be a real waste of an evening if you didn't even _try_ to woo him, so I'm telling you now: as soon as those dwarves start playing a suitably slow piece of music, you will get yourself out into the hall proper and find Master Baggins and ask him to dance… Otherwise I might just have a bit more of that ale and let slip to him how much you've been pining over him since the Carrock." 

"I believe this might be called mutiny by some, old friend," Thorin bit out with no real heat whilst wondering just how long Balin had been stood nearby and how much he had heard, he didn't think he would like the answer if he asked however and so kept quiet. 

Balin chuckled, reaching out to pat the king's shoulder fondly. "Think of it less as mutiny, and more that this old dwarf is tired of seeing you remain alone when there's one you love out there who is more than willing to return it." 

"Balin, he-" Thorin scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "He does not deserve to be tied here if he wishes to return home. If he accepted me courting him… well I can't very well up and leave myself to return with him to his Shire now, can I?" 

There was no point denying he wished to court the hobbit, not when his old friend clearly had a good idea of what was going on; trying to hoodwink Balin had never ended favourably for anyone be they friend, foe, or even family. 

"Why not?" Balin asked bluntly. "I said it once before, lad. You've done honourably by our people; but if you now wished to go chase some new future for yourself, there'd be none here who would begrudge you, and you have others to take your place. Besides, who's to say Bilbo would even want to return to the Shire anymore? Our dear burglar has not wistfully mentioned the place in many a month now. Perhaps he considers Erebor his home instead."

Thorin felt an unfamiliar swoop in his stomach at the words, as they so closely echoed the suppositions he had had before regarding Bilbo's stance on home. 

Still, he could not even entertain the idea of Bilbo staying somewhere he was unhappy… 

"Trust yourselves to make the right choice, for goodness sake. I am not asking you to propose to him this instant, just go and ask him to dance," Balin huffed and actually _shooed_ the king from his throne.

"Insubordination, that is what this is," Thorin shook his head fondly and eased himself from his seat with a small wince, too long in one attitude did that to him since the battle, and he longed for the day when he would be completely free of any discomfort. 

"Aye, most likely, but it is of a friendly sort. Now go, before I call the lads over here to hound you… or your sister."

The threat was more than enough, and Thorin grumbled softly before making his way down from the dais himself to go and find Bilbo.

 

* * *

 

"Since I don't see Bofur upside down in an ale keg, am I correct in assuming you managed to soothe tensions here, Master Baggins?"

"Thorin!" Bilbo turned to wave the king closer and Thorin obliged, wandering over to stand beside the hobbit by a table full of food. "There was really little need for me, truth be known. Ori managed to calm things quickly enough, he's quite good at that with Dwalin you know." 

"Is he now?" Thorin shared a knowing look with Bombur whose cheeks bulged like a greedy squirrel as he helped himself to another slice of pie. The portly dwarf awkwardly returned the smile and offered the king a plate of his own, which Thorin politely declined. 

"Yes, it's rather sweet actually- oh! Should you be here, I mean you're not straining your injuries or anything are you?"

"I am fine, Bilbo. To be honest I do need a little exercise to build my strength up again." 

"Well, so long as you're sure…" 

It was Óin who interrupted them as he bustled by with his brother, nodding to the king approvingly. "Aye, lad. Thorin will be fine. I daresay he might do well from joining in the next dance actually. It won't wear him out, and it will only help return his strength-" 

The healer trailed off as Glóin elbowed him roughly for some reason, and Bilbo stared after them as the pair walked off bickering. 

"What was that all about?" 

Thorin coughed, feeling embarrassed. "I'm not sure I'm afraid… he er, he might have a point though… apparently the next set of music is supposed to be slower, so it might be alright for me to dance this one… I was wondering if- well if you would like me to demonstrate the dance with you?" yes, that was safe enough. He wasn't asking directly for a dance, just to show Bilbo how- 

Thorin was fairly certain he heard Dís groan despairingly from somewhere nearby but he put the odd thought out of his mind. 

"If you're sure it won't harm," Bilbo's expression was enthusiastic, and he set aside the small plate of treats he had picked for himself as he spied the dwarven musicians readying themselves with their instruments once more. "I would like to dance very much."

 

* * *

 

The dance had been explained to him, but it was still rather surprising how simple it could be. There was no fancy footwork or change of partners, no loud stomping and clapping or exhausting pace to keep. Instead, Bilbo stood within the circle of Thorin's arms, the king's hands at his waist and Bilbo's arms looped around Thorin's neck as the moved slowly in time with the strains of the fiddle and plucking harp strings.

It was… very close, closer than he had expected. However, most of the couples on the dance floor were in the same position and so Bilbo thought little of it. 

Thorin was right; it did make talking a lot easier. 

"Is this all there is to it?" Bilbo queried, not unimpressed at all, merely confused. All the dances he had known were quite difficult to master; this was extremely simple.

"Well, as I mentioned there are others like… hm sorry I'm trying to remember- 

"It's been a long time?" Bilbo questioned.

"Actually I've never really danced like this with anyone, except perhaps my parents as a dwarfling. I would stand on my mother's feet if I remember rightly."

Bilbo laughed at that obviously envisioning such a scene. 

Flushing, Thorin averted his gaze for a moment, Bilbo's face was very close to his own after all… it was distracting. 

"Ah, yes, there is this one…" 

Thorin wrapped an arm more securely about Bilbo's waist and took one hand in his own. "Move your feet like so, the pace is… one, two, and three, one, two and three- that's right." 

Bilbo murmured the steps to himself as he concentrated on not stepping on Thorin's feet, chuckling whenever they missed a beat or put a foot wrong.

"I suppose neither of us is particularly good at this dance," Thorin conceded after a short time and manoeuvred them back to their original dance positions, feeling oddly elated when Bilbo nodded his agreement and gravitated closer to him.

"No, it is nice though… perhaps I was wrong, folk in the Shire might like this dance very much, especially those who are courting." 

"Yes…" Balin's earlier words returned to taunt him, and Thorin was hard pressed not to ask Bilbo something utterly idiotic. 

The last thing he wanted was to make the hobbit feel awkward.

Instead, the king focused on the other part of Bilbo's statement and, though almost afraid to ask, found himself speaking regardless. "When you return I suppose you could teach them… you- that is… when do you think you will return to the Shire?"

"Trying to get rid of me?" Bilbo joked, though there was a slight wary hesitance in his voice which made Thorin feel bad for even asking.

"No! No, not at all, I just thought you might be missing home…" 

"Hm, not as much as I once thought I might." 

Thorin realised that the music was slowly and coming to an end and so took a cautious step back from Bilbo, offering him a warm smile as they stopped moving. "You are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish, just so you know." 

"Thank you." 

Feeling suddenly awkward over how many of their companions he could feel watching them, and plenty more besides, Thorin finally released Bilbo and nodded politely before excusing himself. "Thank you for the dance, you were right it had been a while." 

Bilbo gave a short bow in return and Thorin made his way back to his seat.

 

* * *

 

The remainder of the evening passed uneventfully enough, for Thorin anyway, the party passing in a pleasant haze for the most part, until the guests were soon taking their leave and only volunteers remained in the hall to tidy the mess left from the celebration. 

Thorin bid his nephews goodnight at their rooms and carried on down to his own, removing his crown and cloak as soon as he entered, quite ready to slump on the couch before the hearth and either read a little or sleep, whichever scenario happened first. 

It was a meek sounding knock at his door that prevented him from doing either however, and Thorin frowned slightly as he walked back over to the door and opened it a crack to see who wished to speak with him. His nephews and sister would never knock so quietly, and the dwarves staying within Erebor would not have come to the royal quarters without a prior arrangement. 

Bilbo stood in the hallway, shuffling from foot to foot with uncharacteristic nervousness. 

"Bilbo, is everything well?" Thorin frowned, concern writ over his features for a moment. 

"Ah, yes, everything is fine that is- I'm so sorry, Thorin. I didn't mean to disturb you it's just that- something had been bothering me a little and I wished to talk with you about it but- well it is late and I should have waited until morning, please excuse me-"

Thorin opened his door properly and reached out to catch Bilbo's wrist before he could leave. "It's quite alright, you are not disturbing me one bit, come in and we can talk." 

Ushering Bilbo inside, Thorin closed the door behind him and settled himself on the couch, indicating for the hobbit to do the same. Bilbo however, chose to remain standing, fidgeting a little in front of the dwarf king. 

"Are you sure you are alright, Bilbo?" 

"Yes, yes, it's just… I heard a few of the dwarves discussing something earlier and- I just wanted to ask, but it's so silly I really don't think it could be possible so I feel rather foolish and-" 

"Nothing that would trouble you is foolish, please tell me, what did you overhear?" for a worrying moment Thorin's mind was full of conspiracies and plots to harm one of their own, though he tried to banish such pessimistic thoughts. 

It was made infinitely easier to do so when Bilbo plucked up the courage to speak again.

"They were saying that- that you wished to court… me that is, that you were hoping that- please I really should have waited until morning, or better yet said nothing at all, so I should really be going-" 

"Would it bother you?" the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself and Thorin had a sudden and aching desire to posses Bilbo's uncanny ability of disappearing in mid-air. Realising such ability would not be granted to him, Thorin forced himself to continue before Bilbo fled. "Would you feel uneasy if that were the case?" 

Bilbo was quiet, eyes resolutely looking down at the floor as if weighing his decision before he finally shook his head and spoke. "No, no I would- I would actually be very happy… I had thought when you asked me to dance… but things were a little awkward so I wondered if maybe I had misread things…" 

Finally, Bilbo looked up and met Thorin's gaze unflinchingly, offering him a slightly tremulous smile. 

"I would like it if you wanted to court me." 

Thorin moved so quickly that Bilbo yelped, the dwarf standing and sweeping the hobbit into a hug so enthusiastic that he nearly swept poor Bilbo off his feet. "Good, that's very good. I- well it is true, I just had not realised how many of them had noticed… I do wish to court you, Bilbo. If you would be willing then-" 

"Of course I would," Bilbo squeaked then as his answer led to him really being swept off his feet this time. "No, nonono, Thorin your wounds, don't-" 

"Ah yes… I really don't want Óin confining me to bed rest again quite so soon," Thorin winced and set Bilbo back down and smiled when the hobbit fussed over him, gently pressing hands to his side and stomach to check no damage had been done. 

The stab wound was of course well healed by now, but the damage left behind was slow to heal. Thorin was fine though, his enthusiasm having cost him nothing more than a brief moment of embarrassment. 

The pair spoke properly then. Awkwardness slowly set aside to make room for proper confessions and laughing disbelief over the length of time they had felt this way for one another. 

Bilbo made the first bold move, wrapping his arms around the back of Thorin's neck as he had done when dancing, but this time pushing himself closer to steal a kiss. 

Thorin returned it and Bilbo nuzzled against the dwarf's cheek before murmuring. "I don't suppose we could dance again here, could we? I really did enjoy it, but it was a little awkward with so many people watching." 

"Ah yes, the Company," Thorin snorted his amusement. He had felt their eyes on them too whilst they danced, and really it was rather intrusive of them. "Of course we can dance again." 

Looking happier than Thorin had ever seen him, Bilbo pulled himself closer and readily rested his head upon Thorin's chest, arms loosely wound around him as Thorin's hands came to rest on Bilbo's hips. 

There was no music, but none was really needed, Thorin decided, as he grinned into Bilbo's curls and danced with him before the fireplace.


	20. Biased

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being biased towards someone probably isn't a very good thing in practice, but it does go to show just how idiotically in love these two are XD

Even before his opinion of elves had devolved into mistrust and dislike, Thorin had always found their ears unsettling. They were… odd, for lack of a better word, far too delicate and strangely shaped. They reminded him in passing of cats, or perhaps the bats, which populated the mines and caverns of Erebor. He often wondered just how well the immortal beings could hear. The notion that they could possibly listen in on topics they were not privy to with those ears unnerved him and only fed his distrust. 

When he had seen hobbits for the first time, he had balked at their ears as well. Very much like an elf's in shape, Thorin had let the similarity justify his prejudice against them; they could not be trusted. 

Bilbo was different though, Thorin reasoned. Their hobbit had proved himself time and again to be loyal and trustworthy. 

He had noticed on occasion those ears twitching as Bilbo listened, probably unconsciously, to conversations happening around him. Yet, despite the proof that Bilbo was likely listening in on discussions he ought not to, Thorin could not find it within himself to berate the hobbit for it. Bilbo was one of their own, and if he overheard something that might prove useful to them, then it was all the better in his opinion. 

Besides, Bilbo's ears were not _really_ very elf like, now he thought on it. Whereas elves' ears were elongated and thin, hobbit ears were rounder, more substantial, and rather endearingly leaf shaped. No, not at all elf like, Thorin rationalised and let that conclusion ease his mind. 

For as long as he could remember, Thorin had always disdained those who would choose not to fight when the opportunity presented itself. If one believed in something strongly enough, they _should_ fight for it; be it a war of words or with a weapon. 

Most dwarves shared his opinion, but men, elves, and of course, hobbits often took a different view. They would rather compromise in matters or else take a pacifist route simply to keep the peace… and what good was _that_ when faced with an enemy or stubborn rival? 

Bilbo was different though, of course. His desire for a peaceful life was born out of concern for others, that much was clear. The way Bilbo would describe peace to Thorin did not make the dwarf roll his eyes or snort in derision, but instead listen and understand the value of a quiet life. 

Perhaps, Thorin mused, not fighting was in itself quite a brave thing. 

Frivolous home comforts were something Thorin had done without for many a year. What use were trinkets and ornaments? Why bother paying extra for brightly coloured fabric for clothes? What use were treats and delicate fanciful dishes when stew and bread would suffice and nourish? 

However, when Bilbo sat beside him near the campfire; eyes alight with joy and hands animated as he discussed every item he owned in Bag End and the stories behind them. When he explained at length every dish he longed to create and eat once they had the provisions, and how he missed the warm earthy tones of the garments that suited him so well; Thorin found he could not scorn the hobbit for it. Instead, the dwarf king found himself enjoying the discussion and imagining a comfortable life alongside his hobbit companion. Home comforts no longer seemed unattainable frivolities, but a hope for the future. 

And so the biases continued without him even realising: 

Beardless faces bothered him, but not Bilbo's. Ineptitude with weapons caused him despair, but Bilbo's lack of competence simply made him wish to teach. Thorin wasn't fond of sweet foods having not tasted them for so long; but when Bilbo shared with him some sweets he had brought along for the trip from his home, Thorin found himself craving more. 

Thorin did not dwell on his biased thoughts too much, for he feared what he might realise if he did.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo had always found facial hair distasteful. When he saw it on men and dwarves he would scrunch up his nose once they could not see him and despair over how unhygienic it looked and what a pain it must be to keep from growing wild and unkempt. 

Thorin's looked nice though, he mused one night a few weeks into their journey. The dwarf king kept his beard neatly clipped and never seemed to splash it with ale or drop food in it like some he had seen. It looked quite soft too… that long hair and the beard, and oddly attractive with the silver running through his dark mane, yes… quite acceptable indeed. 

A quiet nature was something Bilbo had always found suspicious. Hobbits were gossipy and sociable by nature, and although Bilbo was not quite as loud and willing to attend to parties as some of his cousins, he did appreciate a good conversation. Thorin's reticent and stoic nature should bother him no end then. However, Bilbo found that it only added to the dwarf king's allure and air of mystery. His quiet presence in the group was grounding and oddly calming rather than irritating, and Bilbo found himself revaluating his estimation of a quiet companion. 

Weapons and violence were something Bilbo abhorred. Why would you go hacking at something when you could sort out differences with calm words? On a dangerous quest though, talking ones way out of trouble was an option sorely lacking (saving perhaps an encounter with an odd cave dwelling creature and a dragon), and so Bilbo had started to respect the skill Thorin showed with his blade; his elegance on the battlefield almost comparable to a dance more than a violent fight for life. 

And so the biases continued without Bilbo even realising: 

Frugality where it was not needed made Bilbo's heart almost ache, but Thorin's reasonable explanations for a simple life made Bilbo reconsider his need for some material things. The idea of learning to play a musical instrument seemed like far too much trouble to bother with when one could easily just sing or write with as much creativity, but Thorin's fingers plucking harp strings set Bilbo's heart yearning to learn and to listen and to enjoy the sound. The idea of living in a cold mountain filled Bilbo with a claustrophobic kind of dread, but Thorin's soft and reverent tones when speaking of his old home only prompted Bilbo to stay as long as he could and enjoy the wonders of a new place. 

Bilbo did not dwell on his biased thoughts too much, for he feared what he might realise if he did.


	21. Love Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, finally caught up!
> 
> This prompt is by bagginshieldhappiness : Bilbo keeps getting anonymous love letters during the quest and is 90% sure they’re from Ori. Until he discovers they’re from Thorin.

_Your eyes are lovelier than any gem hewn from the rock, and your smile shines with the radiance of the stars, the moon, and the setting sun._

It was a short note, clumsily executed but with a poets romantic flair, and had it not been specifically slipped under his bedroll Bilbo may have expected a mistake had been made. 

However, he supposed that was still a possibility… Perhaps one of his companions had simply thought his bedroll was someone else's. Or else in a worse scenario, maybe he was being cruelly mocked. 

No… the dwarves _were_ fond of jokes and mischief, they enjoyed teasing one another especially within their family units. However, they had been quite polite with him thus far. Whether that was due to Gandalf's influence… a warning perhaps from the wizard not to bother him… or merely because they did not consider him part of the group yet; Bilbo had not faced any such interactions with the Company save for Bofur's initial mischievous comments regarding the dragon.

Regardless, they did not seem like the sort of people who would torment others callously. 

As to the sender being mistaken over whom they had sent the note to, Bilbo decided that was unlikely as well. His Shire made bedroll was different enough from the dwarves' that if someone else had been the intended recipient, it was not likely that his bedroll would have been the one to be erroneously chosen. 

That left only one possibility, and it was a conclusion that left Bilbo feeling quite flustered and unsure…

It seemed that he had an admirer.

But who?... 

Bilbo snuggled down into his bedroll for the night, trying to be casual as he cast surreptitious glances about the campsite. If someone had left that note for him and meant the words seriously, surely they would be watching him and waiting for a reaction. 

Nobody met his gaze, nor yet did any of his companions look overly suspicious or fidgety. 

Most of them were arranged strategically around the campfire, the crackling flames casting warmth and light on each of them as they settled down for the night. Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur were bickering good-naturedly and paying him no mind, Fíli and Kíli were already snoring, trying to get as much sleep as possible before they were woken for the next watch, Dwalin sat with Balin poring over a map, Thorin was seated on a rock a short distance away keeping watch over his Company… Nobody paid him any notice, not one of them looked his way.

Very odd… 

Deciding to put the note out of his mind, Bilbo looked it over one last time (the handwriting _did_ look vaguely familiar he supposed, but he was too tired to remember from where), and tucked it into one of his backpacks' pockets before settling down and closing his eyes to sleep.

 

* * *

 

By the next morning, Bilbo had forgotten the note entirely; that was until Kíli rather brazenly questioned Bilbo about his love life and the embarrassment from the night before came flooding back. 

"A husband or wife?" Bilbo echoed back to the young dwarf who had slung an arm about his shoulder almost making the hobbit stumble. Thankfully, Fíli had taken up position on his other side, preventing him from toppling over. "No, no I am a confirmed bachelor, no attachments here… besides why in the world would I up and join you lot if I had someone back home?"

"Hm, it isn't a strange thing to us." Fíli shrugged, puffing on his pipe as the pair frogmarched Bilbo along. "Glóin and Bombur both have wives and children and they've still joined us." 

Well that ruled those two out at least… 

"It's a good thing you're single though, Mister Boggins!" Kíli chirped and turned to Thorin who walked a few steps behind them. "Isn't it, uncle?" 

"Kíli, leave the hobbit be," Thorin rumbled quietly and shot his nephew a warning look.

Wait! Bilbo turned his head quickly to look at Kíli who was grinning close to his face; eyes alight with interest. 

Surely not!

Out of all the dwarves, Kíli had been the most openly friendly with him, trying to pull him into any conversation he could.

Could Thorin's young nephew really have designs on him? He certainly hoped not! Kíli was a lovely lad of course, but Balin had explained in passing that Fíli and Kíli were two of the youngest in their group. Despite the fact they were a good couple of decades older than Bilbo in years, by dwarven standards they were still barely out of their tweens, and Bilbo was middle aged! The idea simply did not sit right with him. 

Bilbo fretted over the possibility up until that night when he received another note. 

_If I could find the words, I would speak with you more often. I would like to know you better if you would but allow it and I had the courage.  
_

Not at all romantic like last night's note… but it was a sweet confession all the same. Whoever his admirer was, they were the shy sort. 

Well, he thought with a relieved sigh. That firmly ruled out Fíli and Kíli then, as did it rule out Bofur and Nori. 

The four of them were rambunctious and chatty, not the least bit shy. 

He had been suspicious of Bofur's feelings towards him as well as Kíli's until now. The miner seemed to be an incorrigible flirt. However, with this note, he was firmly put out of the picture, and Bilbo surmised his salacious winks and generous hugs were simply part of his personality. Bofur did seem to act that way with most of the Company anyway.

This too was a relief. Bilbo was fond of Bofur, but the camaraderie he felt towards the moustached dwarf was nothing more than a kind of brotherly affection and he would so hate to have to reject him and possibly lose what was quickly becoming a fast friendship. 

Running his forefinger gently over the inked words, Bilbo frowned as he tried to puzzle out who could have written it. 

"Master Baggins." Thorin's voice, low and commanding, startled him from his reverie and Bilbo looked up at the dwarf stood over him from his seat on the floor. Bilbo crumpled the note and shoved it in his pocket as Thorin raised a curious brow. "It is late and I suggest you get some sleep." 

"Ah, right… yes, of course." Unaccountably grateful that Thorin had not remarked on his note, for given his position he _had_ to have seen what was written there, Bilbo quickly laid down and pulled his blanket up over his head to hide his flushed face. 

Tomorrow, he would think more on this tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

More notes appeared in the following days, endearing words and kind compliments which left Bilbo feeling alarmingly charmed. It may be entirely possible he was beginning to feel fondness for his mysterious letter writer. 

Rather unfortunate given that they were all on a perilous quest to face a dragon! 

After the unfortunate incident with the trolls, Bilbo was certain his admirer might either be put off given his clumsy handling of the situation, or else see how unwise it could be in trying to court whilst facing life-threatening situations.

Somehow, the idea left Bilbo feeling forlorn despite him knowing it was probably for the best. 

That night he found another note tucked under his pillow in Rivendell, and unwittingly, his heart soared. 

_Please do not despair, you are important to me and your actions with the trolls were admirable no matter what was said to the contrary._

"You are a love-sick fool, Bilbo Baggins, and this will only end in tears," he muttered to himself as he pressed his lips to the note before tucking it safely away.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo used the respite in Rivendell to try to narrow down the possibilities further. If only his note writer was brave enough to come forth… but no, Bilbo thought with fond exasperation, he had to do all the work to find out who it was. 

Balin, Dori, and Óin were not the ones. Even if the vast age difference were not a factor, Óin had already loved and lost, and he had since found out that dwarves loved but once (a rather startling prospect given that one of them was his secret admirer, but Bilbo tried not to let it faze him). As for Balin and Dori, their interactions with him were of the fatherly kind; Balin was wise and becoming a good friend and mentor to Bilbo, and Dori was prone to mothering him. However, neither of them seemed to imply anything from their actions other than this. Besides which, he had seen both of their handwriting, and it was nothing like his admirers'.

Bifur was then quickly ruled out when Bilbo found out the dwarf could neither speak nor write in anything but Khuzdûl. 

Gandalf… Bilbo laughed outright at the very notion. The wizard was a family friend, older than the hills surrounding Bag End, and far too blunt to bother with such a frivolous thing as love letters. 

So that left… Dwalin, Thorin, and Ori. 

Thorin was quite open in his dismissal of Bilbo's presence in the Company. He mistrusted the hobbit and had barely spoken two sentences to him since they left the Shire. 

Dwalin, though he was certain the dwarf hid a shy and romantic heart behind all that gruff and bluster, followed firmly in Thorin's footsteps of seeming to dislike Bilbo on sight. Well… maybe dislike was too strong a word, but Dwalin certainly did not seem to think Bilbo belonged with them, so the idea he might be harbouring a secret attraction for him was rather amusing. 

Then that meant… Bilbo looked over quickly at the young scribe who was busy scribbling in his book. Apparently feeling someone's gaze on him, Ori looked up from his work and met Bilbo's gaze with a warm, shy smile before he returned to his book. 

Oh dear… 

This was even worse than Kíli! 

Ori was the youngest; Dori had told him as much. 

Unfortunately though, the idea fit too well for it to be wrong: Shy, quiet Ori, who wrote more than he spoke. A gentle soul with a romantic streak a league wide, a propensity for poetic language when he put his mind to it, and a friendly nature. 

Oh dear, oh dear… Ori _liked_ him!? 

Excusing himself from the Company for a few moments, Bilbo hid himself behind one of the pillars and tried not to have some kind of panic attack.

"Oh bother," Bilbo mumbled and buried his face in his hands, ears heating up with the force of his blush. "Whatever am I going to do now?" 

Ori was very sweet, and Bilbo did like him immensely, but he did not feel any romantic attraction to the dwarf, even if everyone was willing to overlook their difference in emotional and mental maturity.

True, Bilbo had quite fallen in love with the letters that had been written to him, but up until now, it had been a faceless and nameless love. Someone who he had developed feelings for simply for their kindness and way with words.

The fact that it was Ori very much put paid to any previous admiration for the letters that he had felt. 

Bilbo groaned quietly and piteously. He was going to have to reject Ori and he felt so very guilty about it, poor thing. 

"Please don't let Dori try and murder me for this," Bilbo whimpered beseechingly to any higher power that might deign to listen to the pleas of a troubled hobbit.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo was unfortunately thwarted in his attempts to talk to Ori, for that evening they left Rivendell and Bilbo simply could not speak to the young dwarf privately at any point thereafter. 

He lamented his cursed luck all the way through the Misty Mountains, and felt a sad tug at his heart with the one or two new notes he received before everything went horribly wrong with the stone giants. Poor Ori, he did hope that maybe Ori would somehow shirk dwarven expectation and learn to love another after this. After all, Bilbo was a hobbit… maybe the 'one love' rule did not count of the love was a different race? 

Of course, after the stone giants there was little time to think of anything. Goblins, the creature Gollum, and the delightful arrival of Azog drove all thoughts of love and rejection from Bilbo's frazzled and frightened mind.

It was only after, as he was wrapped in Thorin's arms upon the Carrock that Bilbo felt a twinge of heartache once more. 

Over the weeks, the admiration he had felt for the dwarf king had developed into something more, and in his wildest dreams Bilbo had imagined that maybe Thorin would learn to like him at very least. Now he had the dwarf king's friendship though, Bilbo realised that it might not be enough, and he sighed wistfully that evening as he thought of the love notes. How might he feel if Thorin someday wrote something like that to him? 

Bilbo turned over in his bedroll and hid his face from view. 

He would quite like it actually.

 

* * *

 

Beorn's home was a lovely respite from the awful circumstances they had faced since leaving Rivendell, and it was here that Bilbo finally had the chance to speak with Ori. 

He found the young dwarf sketching in Beorn's garden, and feeling very reluctant, Bilbo settled himself awkwardly down beside the scribe. 

"Oh, hullo, Bilbo." Ori grinned at him and Bilbo suddenly felt as if he were a villain in a fairytale.

"Ah, yes, hello, Ori… um I was wondering if I might speak with you?" 

"Of course." Ori's grin widened and Bilbo wondered if one of Beorn's bees would be kind enough to sting him so that poor Ori's heart would be avenged. 

"I- I wanted to discuss these notes with you." Bilbo pulled the only note he had managed to save from their adventures from his jacket pocket.

Without further ado, Bilbo handed the crumpled, stained paper to the young dwarf, and waited for recognition to steal over his face. It was the second note Bilbo had received, the one that read: _If I could find the words, I would speak with you more often. I would like to know you better if you would but allow it and I had the courage_.

Ori's brow furrowed as he looked the note over, and something like a warning bell tolled in Bilbo's mind. 

"What about it, Bilbo? I am afraid I'll have to admit to some confusion here… why are you showing me a note Thorin has written? It's not making any sense to me."

Bilbo's voice was nothing more than a squeak. " _W-what_?" 

"The note, if you were wondering whose it was, I'm guessing that's what you wanted to know, right? That would be our leader's handwriting." Ori nodded resolutely. 

"No, no no, it's yours!" 

Ori laughed then, shaking his head at Bilbo's wide-eyed and slack jawed expression. "I think I know my own handwriting, Bilbo. This, on the other hand is Thorin's. If you still have your contract, you should compare it. It's his note you've got here, for certain." 

Bilbo attempted to reply but only managed to open and close his mouth several times like a fish out of water. 

Ori laughed again and patted Bilbo's arm fondly. "Why do you look so shocked?... I'm curious to know what in the world Thorin is writing about here though…"

"Me!" Bilbo's hands slapped over his mouth and his eyes bugged in mortification as he realised he had spoken aloud. 

Slow, dawning realisation rose on Ori's face and he had to clamp his hands to his own mouth to stifle a fit of giggles. "O-oh! Oh dear… he wrote you a note, confessing that he wished to know you better-" Here Ori lost control on his composure and chortled happily, whilst Bilbo hid his face in his hands. "Oh Bilbo, we had suspected he might be fond of you, but never- oh! Oh wait you thought that _I_ wrote-" 

Bilbo groaned and fervently wished the ground might swallow him up. "It- it seemed to fit, I thought you were the letter writer and-" 

"And you were coming to-?" Ori looked rather worried.

"To try and let you down gently…" 

"Oh, thank goodness for that! I'm sorry I mean no offence, Bilbo, but you're not really my type," Ori snickered. 

"None taken." Bilbo felt giddy with relief on this account, but on the other hand- 

"Oh my- _Thorin_ has… he's the one who-" 

"Indeed." Ori all at once adopted a look so friendly, consoling, and wise, that Bilbo was surprisingly put in mind of Balin for a moment. "So, how do you feel about this?" 

"Happy." The question was a shockingly easy one to answer and Bilbo looked rather wild eyed as this revelation struck him. "I- I've grown to care for him a lot and…" 

Ori gave the hobbit a playful nudge. "Then go and tell him, for goodness sake! We've all been wondering how long it will take you both to realise it!" 

"You _what_!?" The squeaky quality was back in Bilbo's voice and Ori laughed again. 

"It's been obvious to the Company for a long time now. I believe there might have been wagers made over when it would finally happen."

Bilbo had a sickening feeling he might pass out for a moment and took a few good deep breaths before the scenery stopped spinning. "You- please don't…" 

"Bilbo, they won't hear a word of this from me." Ori smiled kindly. "This is between you and Thorin… but please, for all our sakes go and find him to sort this out."

"Right." Bilbo nodded resolutely and an odd sense of calm settled over him, much as it had before he had recklessly thrown himself at Azog and his followers. "Right… I'll just go and-" 

"Yes, yes, shoo." Ori grinned and waved the hobbit off before turning back to his drawing.

Standing, Bilbo took another few calming breaths before he marched off to find the dwarf king.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was muttering darkly as he tried in vain to remove the grime from one of his few shirts in a nearby stream when Bilbo finally found him. 

Shifting uneasily from foot to foot, the hobbit was wondering how best to broach the subject when Thorin looked up and noticed him, stilling his movements and clearing his throat awkwardly before speaking.

"Master Baggins, it's good to see you."

"And you… Thorin I- there's something I think we should discuss." Deciding not to bother beating around the bush, and unable to think of anything else to say lest his voice take on the pitch of a mouse once more, Bilbo simply held out the note to the dwarf king and awaited his reaction. 

The recognition was instantaneous and Thorin swallowed thickly, cheeks flushing as he suddenly found the ruined shirt in his hand to be the height of interest once more. 

"I am sorry I did not give you the courtesy of speaking with you directly- I- … I fully understand you cannot accept my affections, and after the way I have treated you since the beginning of our journey you have every right to-"

"You know you dwarves do so love to jump to conclusions." Somehow knowing Thorin felt just as awkward as he did made Bilbo feel a lot better and just a little bolder. 

Thorin looked up, startled as Bilbo came closer to settle himself on the grass beside him. 

"Will you at least give me the benefit of speaking for myself before you guess what I'm about to say?" 

Thorin nodded mutely, shame faced and so endearingly shy that Bilbo felt a gentle smile curl his lips unbidden. He looked as if Bilbo was about to tell him some horrifically sad news, and the expression tugged at the hobbit's heartstrings. 

"I will admit that at first you were rather… rude, or you seemed rude at least. However, I have to say I have admired you since the beginning of our journey. You're brave, honourable, and a genuinely kind and good person, even if you did seem to dislike me-"

"I don't dislike- surely you must see-" 

"Let me finish," Bilbo murmured, voice kind and somewhat amused as he took Thorin's hand in his, intertwining their fingers and stroking his thumb over the dwarf's knuckles. "You have to admit, that it would seem as if you disliked me in the beginning from the way you acted… but I think maybe you just have a difficult time expressing yourself." 

Thorin nodded in agreement, unwilling to interrupt again, which caused Bilbo to grin. Underneath that awkwardness, this dwarf was probably the sweetest creature Bilbo had ever met. The notes more than proved it. 

"I really loved the notes," Bilbo murmured quietly, shuffling closer to Thorin. "I tried to keep them, but unfortunately most were lost in the Goblin Tunnels, I did save this one though." 

"I- I find it difficult to speak with those I'm not already well acquainted with, I was not sure how to approach you, and they seemed like the best alternative." 

Bilbo's heart fluttered at the admission and he surprised himself with his own boldness when he brought Thorin's hand to his lips to graze a gentle kiss to his knuckles. "They were very sweet, and despite our slightly… rocky start, I would be very happy to accept your affections, Thorin."

"You would?" There was an element of disbelief in the dwarf's voice, which was both endearing and slightly heart breaking. He really thought Bilbo would reject him? 

"And return them in full." Bilbo smiled, leaning in to press his forehead to the dwarf's own. If he remembered correctly, it was a gesture of affection amongst their race- 

Thorin dropped his shirt and wrapped his arms around Bilbo, pulling him as close as he was able. "You really want-?" 

"Yes, you daft, thing, but I would like for us to work on you actually talking to me in the future… though I have to admit I would quite like some more notes to replace the ones I lost, they were very-" 

Lips pressed to his own prevented Bilbo from finishing that line of thought, and even though the hobbit wondered if Thorin quite understood what _talking_ entailed, he was more than happy to compromise this way.

Returning the kiss enthusiastically as he was swept into Thorin's arms and settled on his lap, Bilbo decided that talking could probably wait until later.

 

* * *

 

Years had passed since that moment, and Thorin had more than made up for his awkward first impressions, Bilbo thought affectionately. 

The hobbit had a small chest full of little love notes courtesy of his now husband, and thankfully he and Thorin were far better at communicating than they had been in the beginning. In fact, there were those who often commented that their understanding of one another bordered on uncanny. 

It was a good thing, Bilbo mused as he greeted the now crowned king of Erebor with a kiss. Love notes were entirely wonderful things, but it was far better to understand one another in more than one aspect.


	22. Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an 'imagine your OTP' prompt:
> 
> Person A writing a romantic note in a library book and giving it to B. Person A waits for B to melt, but instead… B promptly smacks them in the face with the text for daring to write in a library book.

In a small village in England, there was a library. Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins had worked in and owned this library for a good ten years now. He had inherited the place from his father and even though his youth had been full of dreams of wild adventures and travelling the world, he found that he simply couldn't abandon or sell the place after his parents had passed away. It wasn't the most exciting or glamorous job, but he liked it well enough. 

It was a library after all, and a library meant quiet. 

Above all else, this was something Bilbo craved in his life. What with a multitude of nosey, gabbling relatives and neighbours, peace was something that Bilbo sorely missed. 

The smell of old books, the dust motes caught in sunbeams shining in through the windows, the high wooden shelves filled to capacity, and the ancient squashy chairs patrons could sit upon to read. Bilbo loved every nook and cranny of this place. If nothing else the quiet atmosphere and gentle lull of turning pages and murmured voices worked wonders for soothing frayed nerves and inspiring his passion for writing. 

Something which he did frequently when customers were few and far between. 

The old library had never really caught up with the twenty first century. Instead, it had lingered behind, the relic of a by-gone time that still gloried in the use checkout cards and signatures, that refused to acknowledge computerisation and steadfastly feigned ignorance when some poor unsuspecting youngster would question _why_.

Of course, such an attitude did put-off a certain amount of folk, but still more loved the whiff of nostalgia the place invoked, and visited for that odd little sensation of stepping back in time more than anything else. 

In such a small place, Bilbo had come to know his regulars very well, at least by sight if not by name and so he was rather baffled when his newest visitor had begun attending the library on an almost daily basis four months ago. 

He usually came alone, quiet and reserved, and would sit in the far corner just in view of the checkout desk reading whichever tome or novel had piqued his fancy that day. On occasion, he would check a book out; but he seemed to prefer the peace and quiet of the library itself to do his reading, and this Bilbo could easily identify with, feeling the smallest of connections to his new regular through this shared trait alone. 

His name was Thorin, he had discovered through the checkout cards and it seemed he had a preference for history, high fantasy, and romance novels.

He also had two nephews; loud but endearing lads in their teens who had stopped by once or twice to pester their uncle for money, or food, or to 'hurry _up_ , Uncle! We want to go now; Mum says she's not bothering to wait for your broody grumpy butt any longer!'

Bilbo hid a smile as he recalled the embarrassment on Thorin's face at that instance, and attempted to return to the proper task of re-shelving the returned books rather than let his thoughts be consumed by the other man. 

He was very handsome though… 

_Enough of that!  
_

_Get back to work and stop mooning over poor put-upon uncles who have a soft spot for reading Jane Austen novels, Bilbo Baggins. The poor fellow will be scared off if he ever finds out the silly things you think!_

Bilbo was barely half-way through his task when he heard the bell above the door chime merrily signalling the arrival of a visitor. Dusting his hands and popping back out from behind the shelves, Bilbo saw none other than Thorin waiting by the desk.

He looked rather nervous… 

"Ah, hullo again! Are you returning the book already?" Bilbo beamed at the man and he nodded stiffly in reply. Bilbo tried not to let the lack of conversation bother him and attempted to plough on regardless. "You must read very quickly, you only checked this one out the day before yesterday."

"I- yes, I suppose I do," Thorin hummed, eyes darting anywhere except Bilbo's face. 

Unperturbed, Bilbo accepted the book back and checked it back in. 

"Will you be borrowing anything today?" 

"I thought I would just have a look around… maybe read a bit here, if that is alright."

Bilbo chuckled and waved the man off. "Of course it's alright, it will be nice to have some company actually." 

Indicating to woeful lack of people in the library that day, Bilbo returned the handsome man's hesitant smile with a warm one of his own. 

"Thank you, Bilbo." 

Thorin wandered over to the shelves without another word, and Bilbo was left a little flustered, that was likely the first time Thorin had used his name.

An hour passed in relative silence, Bilbo working behind the desk and Thorin reading whichever book he had chosen, until of course Bilbo noticed something. 

The librarian had been checking through the rest of the returned books for damage when he reached the book Thorin had brought back that day. 

Pride and Prejudice, one of Bilbo's favourites… and apparently Thorin's as well since he had borrowed it twice before. 

Now, it was a point of pride that Bilbo took very good care of his books. He checked them regularly, especially after they had been returned, to make sure that no damage had been caused whilst out on loan. 

Bilbo was quite good at restoring books and he was quite pleased to say that many of his books were probably older than the library itself. 

He was not the kind of person who could afford rare books or first editions of course, but he did like to have older copies so that they were of slightly more interest than the generic mass-produced modern editions. 

And he deeply disliked finding any damage on his precious books. 

Especially if it was intentional and not accidental. 

Imagine then his horror, as he flipped through the book Thorin returned only to find that the great idiot had _written_ in it! 

Had his poor precious book not been defaced, Bilbo might have actually been charmed by the words scrawled on page 356. _  
_

_I will love you for more years than this book has pages._

Then below that and rather hastily scribbled out was… 

_Are you a library book? Because I'm checking you out!_

Bilbo had not noticed that in the time he had taken checking his books; Thorin had not read a word from his. Rather, he had sat staring at the librarian and fidgeting as he waited for Bilbo to find the note. 

If he was hoping for a positive reaction, he was going to be sorely disappointed. 

Bilbo stood with the book in his hands and marched over to where Thorin was seated. Any hopes and wishes of Bilbo being endeared by his words were dashed as Bilbo _glared_ at the man, lips twisted into an angry frown. 

"You!" 

"Uh-" 

"You. Wrote. In. A. Library. Book!?" 

Thorin yelped as the irate little librarian actually punctuated each word with a sound smack to his arm or shoulder with aforementioned book. 

"I-" 

"You defaced my property just so you could- could _flirt_! And badly at that!" 

"It wasn't actually all my-" 

"Out!" 

"What?" 

"You intentionally damaged a book, you're banned, get out," Bilbo's voice had dropped then to something dangerously calm and flat and Thorin cringed at it. 

Setting aside the book he had been attempting to read, Thorin stood, heart sinking. He really had messed this up, hadn't he? 

"I'm very sorry."

"Go, please," Bilbo was red faced and cheeks puffed in anger, it would have been quite an adorable sight had the anger only been directed at someone other than Thorin. 

"Yes, of course… my apologies again." 

Thorin wasted no time in gathering his coat and bag and walking quickly to the entrance, shame-faced. 

It was only after the man had left and Bilbo was utterly alone that the librarian finally calmed enough to replay the scene in his mind. Groaning and burying his face in his hands as he sat at the desk with the fateful copy of Pride and Prejudice in front of him, Bilbo realised he had probably overreacted. 

"I went and attacked him with the bloody book! … He could go and report me for assault or something if he had half a mind to," Bilbo mumbled miserably to himself. 

Perhaps it had been because it was one of his mother's copies that he had reacted so poorly, but Bilbo had just seen red at the haphazard handwriting scribbled in his book. Still, there was no excuse to lash out at a customer like that… 

"And I went and banned him as well," Bilbo whined to the empty library at large. "Now I won't even have his stupid handsome face to keep me entertained anymore." 

Feeling morose and very sorry for himself, Bilbo picked up the paperback and flipped through to the note again… the love note… oh Hell… 

It was… sweet, even if he had defaced the book with it. 

_And really,_ a voice that sounded much like his mother's chided him. _Since when did it matter so much anyway? It gives it character and history. A story within a story._

Oh yes, _'Are you a library book? Because I'm checking you out!'_ clearly a quote for the ages to be immortalised on paper forever more.

True that one had been crossed out but… 

Oh bugger it! It wasn't even in pen either, it was pencil! Bilbo could have easily rubbed the note out of the book and there would have been no harm done, but now… 

"I really have made a mess of this, haven't I?"

 

* * *

 

Bilbo trudged up the path towards the library to open up several days later still feeling rather forlorn. 

There had been no sign of Thorin since the unfortunate banning incident and Bilbo was feeling the loss keenly. 

On the upside, there had been no visit from the police regarding an assault by paperback romance novel either, so that was something at least… 

Bilbo was so busy looking at his feet as he made his way up to the front door that he nearly walked straight into the person stood in his path.

"So sorry I wasn't looking- oh! Thorin!" 

Book-defacer extraordinaire was standing in front of the library doors looking incredibly sheepish and very contrite. He cleared his throat, shifting from one foot to another with his hands behind his back before speaking hurriedly. 

"I know you banned me, and I am truly sorry for what I did. I'm not expecting you to repeal the ban or forgive me, but I just wanted to make amends…" 

From behind his back Thorin produced a book, Pride and Prejudice to be exact. 

Thorin had bought Bilbo a replacement for the book he had written in. 

He had managed to get the exact same edition with the exact same cover as well.

"How did you-" 

It wasn't as if it was a very rare copy, but it was an older edition, and Bilbo had not seen any other around before… 

"eBay comes in handy sometimes."

"Oh…" 

"I uh, I also-" his other hand emerged from behind him to reveal a small bunch of flowers. "Dís said you might like these as a peace offering… she said something about your garden being lovely when she's passed it so you might like flowers and- well…" 

Dís, Thorin's sister and mother to this dear fool's miscreant nephews; he'd only ever seen the woman once before but she seemed nice enough. 

Bilbo could feel the blush on his cheeks and he shook his head, accepting the book and flowers with a small smile. "Come on in, we can talk some more inside." 

Really, the man was far too attractive when he smiled like that; Bilbo averted his gaze from the relieved grin Thorin graced him with and set about unlocking the library doors.

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes and a cup of tea later found Thorin and Bilbo both seated in comfortable armchairs amongst the shelves of books. Bilbo had forgone flipping the sign on the door from 'closed' to 'open' so they could have some uninterrupted time together to talk properly. 

"It was my mum's book; I think that's why I reacted so poorly… I am sorry though, I shouldn't have shouted at you and smacked you with the book like I did, that was- well… very poor form to put it mildly." 

"Your mother's book?" 

"A lot of the books in here are, hers and dad's that is." 

"I think I understand why you acted so protectively now… but why would you let your parents' books go out on loan in the first place?" 

"Mum always said books were for sharing, dad agreed with her. After they died I thought they'd like it if I added their books to the library as well." 

Thorin shifted, looking uneasy. 

"I was going to just erase it you know. I wrote it on a whim, as I was just so desperate to confess to you but had no idea how to go about it, but Kíli said it was a good idea. He said that you might find it romantic… so I left it in there…" 

"You took relationship advice from your teenage nephew?" 

"Yes…" 

"The same teenage nephew who thought that clambering up into the tree in front of my library and attempting 'parkour' might impress the pretty redheaded lass he'd been pining after?" 

"That- that would be the one, yes." 

"He nearly broke his bloody arm and you seriously thought taking advice on how to woo someone from him was a good idea?" 

"He er… he did actually get her number after that so-" 

"You're an idiot," Bilbo sighed, but his lips were twitching. "You're also very much forgiven… I hope you can forgive me for acting the way I did too." 

"You had every right to act as you did, I damaged the book." 

"It was only pencil… and as much as I hate to admit it, it was rather sweet." 

"Really?" Thorin perked up, looking quite foolishly hopeful and Bilbo chuckled fondly. 

"Yes… well the note you crossed out was pretty awful, but the other one was actually very nice." 

"Did it rub out alright? I know I bought you a replacement but-" 

"I er… I haven't bothered erasing it. Every time I went to I just couldn't," Bilbo ducked his head feeling the silly smile that had been on his lips since he let Thorin into the library widen. "I think… maybe I'll retire that copy from library use, and put your replacement out there instead. I'd quite like to keep the other as it is." 

When Bilbo looked up it was to see Thorin looking so very hopeful and Bilbo decided he had left the poor man in suspense over a proper answer for too long. Standing up, Bilbo approached Thorin's chair before taking the man's hands in his. 

"For a book vandal you are entirely too charming and I'm actually very smitten with you… so if you meant what you wrote in there, I'd very much like to take you out for coffee some time." 

"I'd like that," Thorin looked overjoyed and relieved all at once. He quickly lifted the hand holding his so he could press a quick, chivalrous kiss to Bilbo's fingertips and the librarian laughed softly at the gesture. He really did read a lot of romances… 

"For now, if you don't have anything planned, we could read some books together," Bilbo suggested, uncertain if the idea would sound too boring. It was something his parents used to do though, and he found the idea appealing. 

He need not have worried, as Thorin seemed quite taken with the idea, and for the first time in a long time, Bilbo did not bother to open the library that day.


	23. Dog Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by bagginshieldhappiness: Modern AU where they meet when they bring their dogs to obedience training. The dogs look comically similar to their owners.

Roäc was not a bad dog, not in the slightest. The problem was that the young Husky cross was simply far too intelligent for his own good and he damn well knew it too.

If there was mischief to be had, Roäc would find it. If there was a house rule to break, Roäc would probably break it (much to the amused delight of Thorin's nephews). Dis's prized flowers dug up (they _were_ rather ugly, Roäc was doing them a favour in Thorin's opinion), couch chewed (it was old, Thorin didn't like it anyway), neighbours barked at (they were snobs, no loss there), and food cupboards ingeniously raided (see, _intelligent_ ). 

Dís had finally put her foot down though, and insisted Thorin take Roäc to obedience classes. "If he's so damned smart, he should have no problem picking up the lessons." 

Thus, Thorin found himself bullied into going to the town hall that Thursday evening to participate in a dog obedience class. His dear sister had signed Roäc up as soon as she'd seen the advert in the newspaper and Thorin resigned himself to his fate of having to record that new documentary series he'd wanted to watch about Vikings for the next six weeks or however long it took for Roäc to become a 'model canine citizen'. 

And frankly, Thorin wondered what he was even doing here. Roäc seemed to agree judging from his piteous whine. Thorin glanced down by his feet to see his dog had apparently given up the will to live and had flopped onto his stomach, the very picture of abject doggie misery... Thorin strongly shared his sentiments. There were nine other people and their dogs in the hall, and Thorin felt Roäc was probably a saint in comparison to these other hellions (not that he was biased or anything). 

Two dogs were barking non-stop at one another, looking as if at any moment they might slip their leads, lunge, and go for the other's jugular. Several were straining in their owners' grips, twisting themselves and others in their leads, sniffing inappropriate things, and drooling everywhere. Two were… well Thorin just hoped they were fixed, judging by the horror on their owners' faces as they tried to call their dogs back, puppies were not actually what was wanted to be gained from coming here. Another dog was… he really was peeing against that curtain wasn't he, and the owner seemed utterly oblivious. Thorin just hoped the cleaners of this place had some good disinfectant they could use before yoga class started tomorrow morning. 

"Simply awful, aren't they?" 

Thorin tore his gaze away from the young pup who had decided to mercilessly attack his owner's shoe in order to turn to whoever it was that had spoken. 

A man was stood beside him. Thorin hadn't been aware of his presence before, but he supposed that was in part due to the distractions of the hyperactive company about him, and in part due to the other man's short stature. 

Still, Thorin was surprised he hadn't noticed him before. He was very… pleasant… yes pleasant was a safe word. 

He was short, just slightly on the plump side, with an open and expressive face, captivating eyes holding a rather wicked glint, and hair that looked very soft. 

Thorin swallowed thickly and attempted to return the quick grin the man had flashed at him, he found his responses were quite slow for some reason though, and he probably looked a right idiot. 

"Er, yes. Not very well behaved at all, I'm starting to think Roäc's quirks aren't such a bad thing after all." 

"Ah, Roäc is it?" Without waiting for a reply the man crouched before the Husky cross and cooed gently. "You are a handsome one aren't you… you look rather like your daddy you know." 

Thorin tried not to think too hard on the implications of being compared to his dog (handsome? Had this man just indirectly complimented him?) and fought to keep the flush off his face; mentally praising Roäc when the dog offered a wave of his plumed tail and a friendly lick to the man's offered hand instead of the displeased grumble he would sometimes give strangers.

Straightening, the man then offered his hand to Thorin with a smile, introducing himself. "Bilbo Baggins, pleasure to meet you, and this bundle of trouble here is Emmett." 

Thorin returned the handshake, and looked down to see a plump, very cute little Corgi with beseeching eyes staring up at him, tongue lolling. "Thorin Oakenshield, lovely to meet you as well, and Emmett of course." 

Reluctantly releasing Bilbo's hand, Thorin returned the same courtesy the man had shown his dog in giving Emmett some fuss. He crouched and smoothed the dogs' ears and head, only to have the dear little thing throw himself into his arms and topple Thorin back onto his behind. 

"Oh, Emmett honestly, don't-" 

"Quite alright, he's just being friendly," Thorin huffed a laugh as he struggled to maintain his hold on an armful of wriggling, whining, licking Corgi. The dog's entire backside was waving in a vain attempt of wagging his tiny stump of a tail.

Bilbo noticed where Thorin was looking at was quick to reassure. "He's not docked. Never did hold to that horrible practice. He's one of those Corgi's just born with a short tail." 

"Ah, good to hear it, I hate the idea of anyone doing that. I'm very glad you think so too." Thorin's estimation of the man rose considerably and Bilbo's eyes were warm and friendly.

Rather than attempt to free Thorin from his Emmett shaped prison, Bilbo plopped himself down on the floor as well, letting his hand stray over to pet Roäc who was looking a little neglected what with his human being encumbered with a lapful of Corgi. 

Bilbo was right on that account, Thorin supposed. He did somewhat resemble his dog in some ways. Both of them had black hair, shot through with silver; Roäc's was genetic whilst Thorin's was due to age however. They also both had the same piercing blue eyes and large, strong type of bodies. 

Bilbo, Thorin decided, definitely looked like Emmett, so he couldn't really talk: warm eyes and adorably soft bodies, not to mention the dark, sandy sort of hue to their hair and fur. 

"So, I presume you've been forced into this ridiculous class when there's clearly nothing wrong with your dog too, hm?" Bilbo seemed enchanted by the fact that Roäc had turned and settled his head on his knee. "Roäc seems very well behaved after all, whyever are you here?" 

"My sister, Dís, seems to think Roäc needs this class. I do admit, he's too clever by half and gets himself into trouble, but he's not nearly as bad as that lot." Thorin emphasised his point by jerking his head towards the gaggle of other dogs in the hall. 

"I see. Emmett snarled at a cousin of mine, that is why I'm here. I'm not blaming him though," Bilbo defended his dog stoutly. "She tried to let herself into my home whilst I was out, but her family is a pain and I'm just doing this to keep them off my back." 

Thorin shook his head in disbelief. If they were trying to imply Emmett was vicious, they must be mad! The rotund little dog was probably the friendliest thing Thorin had ever met. Currently he was making an endearing snuffly snorting noise as he nosed at Thorin's shirt; either intrigued by the scent of his clothes, or else nosing about for treats, Thorin wasn't sure; but it was the furthest thing from fierce anyone could hope to witness. 

The pair spoke amiably for a few minutes more, until a hulking great beast of a man approached them. 

Thorin frowned up at him, he didn't have a dog with him so… 

"Beorn!" Bilbo grinned and stood, dusting off his trousers and straightening his sweater-vest. "I didn't know you were taking this class." 

"Alrigh' there little bunny?" Thorin saw Bilbo grimace at the apparent nickname, but he recovered quickly and smiled again politely. 

"Very well, thank you. I've brought Emmett with me. This is Thorin by the way, and his dog, Roäc." Bilbo made the introductions whilst Thorin continued the glare suspiciously at the newcomer. Who was he?... Well he was the tutor of this class obviously, but…

"Ah, lovely dogs these." Beorn had crouched before Roäc in an instant, fussing over him just as Bilbo had done, and again Roäc seemed quite taken with the stranger, though this time Thorin was less pleased by that for some reason. "You've been taking good care of him, he looks in wonderful condition." 

"Thank you." Thorin felt instantly guilty for feeling an odd sort of dislike towards the man on sight, and instead let his scowl soften into a hesitant smile. "I'm glad you think so." 

Beorn straightened and shot Bilbo a wolfish grin. "Good to see you finally found someone. It's about time." 

"Wha-!? I- _Beorn_! We've only just-"

Bilbo's sputtering denials were for naught as the mountain of a man walked off calling to the other members of his class for attention. 

Thorin could feel his cheeks heating as he stood up again and turned to Bilbo, depositing a still wriggling Emmett into his arms. "Who was that?" 

"Beorn, he's taking this class," Bilbo huffed and then elaborated. "He's a friend of a friend; he actually put me in touch with the lady who bred Emmett. I used to volunteer with both him and Gandalf at the animal shelter…" 

He paused, cleared his throat, and carried on with cheeks aflame. "He and Gandalf love to pry into my personal life for some reason… I think my mother put them up to it and they've taken on the task a bit too enthusiastically for my liking. Anyway, Beorn seems to be under the impression that you and I are dating from the sounds of things so…" 

"Ah…" 

"Yes…"

"Well there's only one thing for it," Thorin murmured as Beorn started explaining his rules and what he expected their dogs to achieve. 

"What?"

Screwing up his courage, Thorin rested his hand atop Roäc's head for moral support before speaking again. "I'll just have to take you out for coffee and make it official." 

Bilbo suppressed a laugh and nodded, grinning ear to ear. "Alright, tomorrow good for you?" 

"Perfect." 

"… And if the two love birds have finished arranging their date, we might be able to start the lesson," Beorn's booming voice brought them both back to the room with a nasty jolt. 

Deeply embarrassed, Thorin and Bilbo paid close attention to the next instructions, but Thorin didn't miss the thumbs up Beorn gave him and the bright smile on Bilbo's face whenever Thorin caught his eye throughout the lesson would more than make up for the teasing he knew he'd receive from Dís when he told her about all this.


	24. Stature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little thing today (pardon the pun :B) . Regarding an idea justswishnflick came up with indicating that Thorin would be happy to be amongst hobbits having spent most of his life being looked down on by the taller races. Poor Thorin had height issues =P

When Thorin had lived in Erebor as a prince of dwarves, stature was not something he overly concerned himself with thinking about. He knew from his lessons with Balin and Óin as a dwarfling that most other races were taller than dwarves were. He knew that their physiology differed in various ways. What he did not know, however, was how it felt to be looked down upon; both metaphorically and physically.

He was royalty; heir to one of the wealthiest kingdoms in Middle Earth. Thus, whether he be dwarf, man, or elf, that kind of standing would mean that he was well respected no matter his height.

After Smaug of course, all that had changed.

Thorin had only met with men and elves on a handful of occasions before the dragon attack, and most of those times he had been stood upon the dais of his grandfather's throne, unperturbed by their height as his was taller thanks to his elevated position.

Now though…

Now that Thorin was one of the dispossessed, one of the exiled hundreds; a prince of a broken line and desperate people, Thorin came to the uncomfortable realisation of just how small in this world he really was.

Tall for a dwarf he may be, but his height would be seen as short and near pitiable amongst men, laughable amongst elves.

For so long he and his fellow dwarves from Erebor lived in exile that Thorin soon forgot what it was like not to be looked down on. Men, elves, orcs, all of them taller and assured of their superiority through this advantage alone.

Thorin grew used to having to look up at people he worked for. He grew used to people pushing him aside (or trying to anyway, people often forgot that whilst dwarves were short, they were also hardy), he even got used to the audacious few; mothering simpering types, who referred to he and his kinsmen as endearing or sweet, and within earshot no less!

It was unconscionable, demeaning, and difficult to stomach, but Thorin made do as they all did until they managed to settle in Ered Luin.

 

* * *

 

Working so long in the company of those taller than he; Thorin had almost forgotten that there was one other race who might understand his irritation.

Bilbo Baggins was shorter than him. Their burglar barely reached Thorin's shoulder and upon first meeting him, Thorin had felt rather pleased that there was a member of their Company so much shorter than a dwarf.

It was a petty sort of satisfaction that quickly fell flat when he realised that thinking in such a way proved he was no better than those who had disdained him for much of his life due to his height.

Thorin sought to make amends; and whenever he saw Bilbo needing to crane his neck to see something, or look cowed by the height of others surrounding him, the dwarf was quick to step in and put things to rights. He made sure maps and plans were within Bilbo's line of sight, attempted to use their terrain whilst they travelled to his advantage so that Bilbo was always on a level with him. And, once the reached Laketown where the men fairly loomed over their smallest member, Thorin was sure to use dwarven hardiness to his advantage, nudging and bustling folk aside so that Bilbo wouldn't be pushed over or have his toes stepped on.

It was only after the battle and Bilbo's subsequent offer for Thorin to return with him to the Shire that Thorin even remembered there were others of Bilbo's height if not even smaller.

Bilbo had teased that Thorin would be seen as something of a giant amongst the fauntlings, and that most of the hobbits would have to look up at him as Bilbo had done at the beginning of their quest.

Thorin assured Bilbo that he would not use his height to intimidate or belittle and the hobbit had chuckled at the solemnity in Thorin's voice before kissing him and proclaiming that he had 'such a sweet heart'.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was as good as his word. Once he moved into Bag End with Bilbo, he made sure none of the residents of Hobbiton or the surrounding area ever felt he was looking down on them or mocking their smaller stature.

With the fauntlings he was viewed with something akin to reverence; a strange, foreign being, who told tales of fantastic adventures and was as strong as an ox, and _so_ _tall_!

Bilbo often laughed and rolled his eyes to see Thorin surrounded by children, all clamouring for a story or to be hefted onto his shoulders.

He seemed to take the attention in his stride though; he _had_ helped raise Fíli and Kíli after all.

And Thorin, now amongst a race of people whom most were shorter than him, found himself oddly pleased and grinning like a fool whenever someone who didn’t know him well enough to recall his name would refer to him as 'that tall fellow who stays with Master Baggins'.

Really, after having spent most of his life looked down on, it was rather pleasant to feel tall again.


	25. Excellent Baby-Sitter Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd give a prompt of alkjira's a try today: Primula and Drogo are in a car accident and an inexperienced Bilbo has to take care of Frodo whilst they recover. He sucks at it, Thorin helps. They're attracted to each other of course muahahaha!
> 
> I aplogise in advance. I know NOTHING of childcare or of babies and toddlers, so hope i didn't screw it up too badly. 
> 
> Enjoy the fluff!

"Hand Frodo over to me, _now!_ " 

The voice was deep, angry, and vaguely threatening, and caused Bilbo to startle something awful as he held a fussing, whimpering Frodo as securely as possible in one arm, and a stuffed to capacity duffle bag in the other. 

"I _beg_ your pardon?" Bilbo fairly sputtered as he fumbled with the keys to Primula and Drogo's house; turning to face the owner of the voice, he made sure to tighten his grip on his cousins' son slightly.

"Take what possessions you have there, but leave the child be, I will _not_ let you kidnap him." 

Bilbo finally got a good look at the man addressing him and felt a sense of foreboding. He was much taller than Bilbo, solidly built, and had a menacing look about him as if he might try and take Frodo away by force if Bilbo did not comply. 

It took a few moments of gawping and blinking and poor Frodo starting to cry again due to the cold night air and tense atmosphere surrounding him, but finally understanding began to dawn in Bilbo's mind. 

"You think I'm a _kidnapper_? A- a _burglar_!?" Bilbo puffed up, wariness replaced with indignant anger. "How _dare_ you, sir! This is my cousins' home and I'm here to look after Frodo." 

"Your cousins?" 

"Yes, yes Primula and Drogo Baggins are my cousins; I'm Bilbo Baggins, though I might very well ask just who _you_ are. Why are you skulking outside my cousins' home at night and demanding that I give Frodo to you?" 

The menacing glower from before was replaced by a much softer expression, though suspicion still tugged at the stranger's lips making him appear more grim than Bilbo was comfortable with.

"I'm Thorin," the man mumbled, and upon stepping into the porch light so that Bilbo could see him better, Bilbo had to admit he didn't look nearly so intimidating when his face was lined with gentle concern. "I'm a neighbour of your cousins… why are they not home?" 

" _You're_ Thorin?" Bilbo blinked in surprise. From Primula's delighted appraisals of the man to Bilbo on numerous occasions, he had not expected Thorin to look quite like this.

The Thorin she had mentioned was a soft and caring man, who loved to spoil his own nephews rotten, and now that they were both growing like weeds and more independent, he adored spending time looking after Frodo too when his neighbours asked. 

Bilbo certainly had not expected a tall man with long unruly hair, a beard, and a general air of a biker gang member (complete with leather jacket) to be the same neighbour that his cousins spoke so fondly of. 

"Yes," Thorin looked all at once rather embarrassed and rushed to explain himself. "Forgive me, I saw the porch light was on when I went to lock my garage for the night; Drogo never leaves it on… then I saw you on the doorstep with a large bag and Frodo in your arms and… well… I apologise I rather jumped to conclusions." 

Bilbo felt the last of his ire melt away and he offered the man a hesitant, tired grin as he hushed Frodo. "No, it's fine; I can see why you would think the worst…" 

He paused, fishing awkwardly in his pocket for Frodo's teething ring as Thorin hovered protectively beside him. Bilbo should have probably felt offended, but to be honest he was more than aware that his grip on the tiny child, bag, and keys must look very precarious at best. 

Remembering Thorin's concerned question, Bilbo hurried to answer it. "I'm- I'm afraid Primula and Drogo were both involved in a car accident. I was babysitting Frodo at my home at the time-" 

Thorin looked aghast. "Are they- what happened? Will they be alright?" 

"Yes, yes. They're… in a rather sorry state the both of them, but Primula was well enough to joke, and Drogo conscious enough to complain, so I'm thinking they'll be right as rain in no time." 

Weeks, the doctors had said, and several more of after care following their release from hospital, but he didn't want to worry Thorin any more than necessary. 

The tall man huffed a loud sigh of relief and Bilbo felt his lips curl a little fondly. Any man caring enough to worry over his cousins so, could not be a bad sort in his book. 

"I was babysitting Frodo when I got the call, as I said," Bilbo continued, finally handing the teething ring to Frodo who gnawed on it happily. "I rushed right over to the hospital with Frodo only to be told that I wouldn't be able to stay there with him, they didn't have the room. Primula suggested I come and stay here since it's what Frodo is used to and all his things are here, it made more sense than uprooting the poor lad. I went home and grabbed some things and well… here I am." 

By now, Thorin had plucked the keys from Bilbo's fingers and was opening the front door for him, Bilbo nodding his thanks as he bustled inside to get poor Frodo out of the cold. 

"Thank you, Thorin… Would you like a cup of tea before you go? I would like to thank you for showing so much concern for them-"

"Yes, thanks. I feel like I might need it after that news… you're sure they will be alright?" Thorin followed Bilbo readily into the hallway and removed his boots, looking quite at home, Bilbo noted. 

"They'll be fine. It would take more than that to do those two in," Bilbo hummed as breezily as possible, but his stomach still twisted at the thought of how close a call it had truly been. It was the matter of a mere few inches, one of the matter-of-fact accident investigators had told him blandly… had their car been just a few inches to the left when the impact occurred… Bilbo swallowed thickly; Frodo would not have had either parent survive that night.  

Letting the duffle bag drop from his shoulder and still cradling a snuffly Frodo, Bilbo shucked off his own shoes and wandered into the living room. He had not visited his cousins very often and was at a bit of a loss as to where everything was.

Thorin on the other hand, walked straight to the kitchen and began setting the kettle to boil, finding cups, tea bags, and spoons with ease.

Bilbo raised a brow as he shuffled through to the kitchen himself to watch, and Thorin glanced up with a shy sort of smile, correctly interpreting the unasked question. 

"I've visited a few times, and looked after Frodo on a couple of occasions myself. Besides, the houses in this street all have a similar layout." 

"Ah," Bilbo shifted Frodo in his arms awkwardly and the little child had fallen silent, watching Thorin with something like calm recognition. "I'm surprised they didn't ask you tonight then… to be honest you'd have been a far better option by the looks of things." 

Thorin snorted, mildly amused as he stirred the two mugs of tea. "I was at work late, unfortunately. Not to mention I do not deal with family emergencies particularly well. You seem far more qualified for that, you're quite calm about all this, I think I may have lost my head." 

"'rin," came a little peep from Bilbo's charge, and Bilbo turned to see his tiny nephew-cousin smiling happily at Thorin from around his teething ring. He should be sleeping by all accounts, and the slow blink of the young lad's eyes told Bilbo he was probably only semi-aware of the goings on around him. 

"Hullo again, Frodo," Thorin offered the tiny tot a warm smile and reached over to tap a forefinger to the tip of Frodo's snub nose which sent the youngster burbling happily.

"Huh, he really likes you. He just sits and stares at me like I'm some kind of odd alien," Bilbo groused good-naturedly. 

A small hand shot out quick as a flash and grabbed hold of a lock of Bilbo's hair before giving it a prodigiously strong tug for one so small. Bilbo yelped and winced. "Or he does that!" 

"Maybe he's trying to tell you that you're holding him wrong," the words were spoken with careful mildness, Thorin peering at him casually from over the rim of his teacup as he took a sip, but Bilbo could tell it was something Thorin had been itching to say since they'd become acquainted on the front porch. 

"I-I'm what?" 

"He needs more support when you hold him- here let me-" 

Setting aside his tea, Thorin reached out and Bilbo barely even hesitated before handing Frodo over. 

He had half expected the child to tear up and squall as he had done with Primula when she had handed him to Bilbo earlier that day. However, Frodo actually kicked his little feet happily at the prospect of being held by ''rin' and settled down contentedly in the taller man's arms without a single complaint. 

"He'll feel more secure this way, you see," he looked up from Frodo to offer Bilbo a cheeky grin. "And won't feel the need to hold onto your hair like reins."

Bilbo was impressed, but still couldn't help but feel a little bitter. It wasn't as if Bilbo was particularly good with children, but it would have been nice to have his own relative fond of him. Instead, the little one was fonder of a neighbour than his own 'uncle'. 

Taking his chance whilst Thorin was holding Frodo, Bilbo finally drank his own tea, trying to hide the slightly childish pout that seemed to insist on coming unbidden to his face. 

A good hour later when Frodo had been settled in his bed (with some help from Thorin of course, because naturally Frodo had refused to quieten down without a goodnight from his favourite neighbour as well), Bilbo saw Thorin to the front door and thanked him for his help.

"No problem at all. I'm not sure how much Primula and Drogo told you about me; but I have nephews myself, I helped raise them so all of this is old-hat to me."

Bilbo nodded and returned Thorin's rather charming smile with one of his own, feeling like a complete idiot for having felt even the slightest bit bitter before. 

Walking down the path, Thorin turned at the last moment to call back genially. "Oh, and if you need anything, please feel free to ask." 

Bilbo assured him he would be fine but would keep his offer in mind and waved him off before closing the door.

 

* * *

 

That assurance would last for as long as it would take Bilbo to attempt to and fail to feed Frodo his formula in the morning.

"Thorin! Thorin please help I think there's something wrong with him!"

A bleary face appeared at the door as Bilbo stood on Thorin's front porch, face flushed with stress and Frodo in his arms, the both of them looking utterly wretched. Frodo was squalling at the top of his lungs for some reason (probably noticing Bilbo's unhappy state of mind), and Bilbo looked as if he was going to have a complete meltdown… poor thing.

"What's the problem?" there was genuine concern in Thorin's voice, though since Frodo did not look injured or sick in anyway, the haze of sleep was yet to be banished from the helpful neighbour. 

"He- he won't eat! I keep trying and he just keeps throwing it back up- and oh, Lord, I took him to the hospital to see Prim and Drogo yesterday! Did he catch something there do you think? It's probably meningitis right? I heard of that and-"

"Bilbo," Thorin had been trying to interrupt the non-stop blabbering since Bilbo started and was only now heard as he raised his voice; Bilbo faltering to a stop. "Frodo has stopped crying."

It was true, the little lad was wet-eyed and sniffling like mad, but he had stopped bawling the moment he caught sight of Thorin.

Bilbo looked pole-axed. "But he- he he was screaming and throwing up his milk and… Thorin what is wrong with him?" 

Despite the early morning drama, Thorin had to smile. Bilbo was obviously a genuinely kind and loving uncle… cousin… whatever he was to Frodo, but he was very clearly out of his depth. 

"Let's go back inside and try and figure it out, hm?" Thorin had a good idea, but he had already corrected Bilbo once, and he didn't want to make the poor overwrought man anymore crestfallen.

Not even bothering to get dressed, Thorin simply tightened his dressing gown around himself over his pyjamas and made a mad bare-footed hobble from his house to the Baggins'. The sight of it causing Frodo to actually giggle despite his tear washed face. 

Following him in something of a daze, Bilbo decided Thorin had been completely wrong last night; he wasn't the calm one, Thorin was.

 

* * *

 

"You see, if you tilt it like this and let him drink slowly, he won't take in too much air or end up over-eating and throwing it back up," Thorin looked utterly unconcerned as once more he quickly reached the root of the issue and taught Bilbo where he was going wrong. 

Bilbo looked utterly shame-faced and slumped down onto the couch next to the other man who was feeding the youngster with all the ease of a natural parent. 

"Primula and Drogo need a medal… _you_ need a medal," Bilbo mumbled, face in his hands and ears red with embarrassment.

Thorin chuckled at the sight and nudged Bilbo's side gently. "You're doing very well so far."

"Thorin, I came to your front door in _slippers_ screaming about _meningitis_. I'm fairly certain this does not constitute for 'doing very well'." 

"I'm not trying to give you a false compliment, Bilbo. You're willing to learn and you agreed to look after him. You're showing concern and good instincts, you're just a bit… inexperienced." 

"You're just being nice…"

"That too, but I really do think you're doing well." 

"… Thank you."

"You're welcome," Thorin shifted Frodo in his arms as the youngster continued to feed before looking around at the small pile of dirty dishes stacked on the coffee table. True, Bilbo was in a rather stressful situation, but he had seemed on first impressions like the fussy, house-proud sort. Thorin couldn't fathom why he hadn't set to work on the dishes yet. 

Bilbo noticed his line of sight and groaned. "Not… not one word, alright. The dishwasher… that blasted thing is out for my blood I swear!" 

Thorin attempted to mask his laughter with a cough, but Bilbo wasn't fooled for a moment, lightly smacking the other man's shoulder and offering him a wry smile. "If you're so smart, you can show me how to work it after Frodo's finished feeding."

Shaking his head, Thorin admitted defeat here. "I've not been here _that_ frequently. I've no idea how to work Prim and Drogo's dishwasher either. Let's just wash them the old fashioned way." 

"Oh… oh right of course," Bilbo looked sheepish again and Thorin gave him a sympathetic look. Only a night without sleep could cause a stutter in sensible thought processes _that_ bad.

 

* * *

 

"I was mainly worried for Frodo, but the house unsettled me a bit too, noises and all that, you know," Bilbo flapped a hand sending suds everywhere as they washed dishes after putting Frodo down for a nap some time later. 

"It is disconcerting to be in a home that's not your own sometimes, I agree."

"You're being nice again; just tell me I'm a hopeless home-body and have done with it." 

"No, because I don't believe you are." 

Their chatter was light-hearted and gentle, but Bilbo had noticed the blooming of _something_ there, something indescribable and fond. He decided he would wait until Primula and Drogo were home again before he'd dare think on it though. 

Still his traitorous mouth betrayed him. "So, you say you've looked after your nephews, but you have no kids of your own?" 

The question was worded lightly, inconsequential, but Bilbo had an aching desire to drown himself in the dish water because it was quite obvious from his tone what exactly he was asking. There had been no sign of a family when Bilbo had come to Thorin's door that morning after all. 

"No," Thorin's answer was equally measured and without consequence, though he did steal a look at Bilbo as he dried the dishes. "No wife or kids for me, no relationship to speak of actually, unless you'd like to count one old and infirm dog… that I really will have to go and take out for a walk sometime this morning." 

"Oh, I'm not keeping you, am I?" Bilbo turned, concern touching his features.

"Not at all, as I said; old and infirm. To the end of the street and back is about as much exercise as old Bjarke gets these days. He probably hasn't even noticed I'm gone to tell you the truth."

"That's alright then, I'd hate for you to be neglecting the poor old dear in favour of helping a hopeless case like me." 

"Not all that hopeless," Thorin said mildly. "And don't tell Bjarke, but I rather think you're better company." 

Bilbo flushed and felt foolish for doing so, but responded all the same. "Lovely to know I beat a fragile old dog in being good company. I'm utterly flattered you know." 

"Good I-" 

Thorin's response was interrupted by a cry from Frodo as he woke, and Bilbo rolled his eyes, grinning as he dried off his hands. "Duty calls, hm?"

 

* * *

 

"Please don't think I'm above clinging onto your legs to keep you here, because I'm really not," Bilbo's voice was just a little desperate that evening as Thorin made to leave for good.

The day had gone remarkably well with Thorin's presence. There had been no more mishaps with Frodo, and Bilbo had heard from the hospital that Primula and Drogo were doing well; both were now stable and lucid again, and Bilbo sent along a message that he would promise to visit tomorrow. 

Thorin had left to check on his dog and take him for a walk but other than that, Thorin had remained the entire day. Now, Bilbo was feeling a sort of rising panic at the prospect of him leaving, even if he was only next door. 

Thorin paused in the doorway and turned back, amusement lighting his eyes and a fond tilt to his lips. 

"Well… I don't actually have work for the rest of the week. How about I go and get a few things and I become a live-in nanny for a while?" 

"You know I could kiss you right now," the relief in Bilbo's voice was palpable, so much so he barely thought of what he had said, and failed to notice the pleased flush on Thorin's cheeks before he left to collect his things.

 

* * *

 

The weeks following the accident passed surprisingly quickly. Bilbo's editor completely understanding of the emergency and offering to put his deadline back. 

Thorin was a wonderful constant presence as well. As it turned out the man was a CEO of some company or another and a couple of his family and co-workers, (a pleasant man who reminded Bilbo of Santa Claus, and a tall, bald man who was ten times more intimidating than Thorin) had called by to let Thorin know that they would keep things under control whilst he took time off to help Bilbo. 

Bilbo had not missed the wicked grin the bald one had sent Thorin, or the friendly wink the elderly man had tipped _him_.

 

* * *

 

"I swear you planned this," Bilbo accused, flushed but happy at Primula's bedside whilst his darling cousin nearly laughed herself sick. 

Drogo and Primula were healing well, and according to the doctors _might_ be discharged the following week. 

"Plan a car accident? That's an audacious accusation, cous'," Drogo was grinning from across the room where he sat reading his book. 

"Not _that_ ," Bilbo was horrified at the mere thought. "I mean me staying at your place where you _knew_ I'd eventually bump into Thorin." 

"Now, Bilbo, I was completely out of my mind on pain relief. Please don't tell me you've become as self-centred as _some_ of our relatives to think I was actually considering _your_ love life at that time," Bilbo felt ashamed by Primula's answer… or he would have had her eyes not been twinkling with mischief. 

"I- well hm…" Bilbo trailed off unsure what else to say. 

"So tell me, Bilbo," Primula cooed and Bilbo cringed in fear of her next question. "How long did it take you two to realise you were head over heels for each other?" 

Drogo joined in with the laughter as Bilbo turned redder than a tomato and Thorin walked through the door at that moment cradling Frodo, offering an answer where Bilbo could not. 

"Two weeks… I'm hoping we can go out on a proper date once your little beastie is returned to you, Primula." 

Primula looked entirely too satisfied by this answer and Bilbo could only smile as Thorin sat down beside him, a warm and steady presence that Bilbo was quickly becoming very attached to.


	26. Newly Wedded Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt from the lovely bagginshieldhappiness: Newlyweds AU where Thorin keeps going around referring to Bilbo as “my consort, Bilbo,” and “my husband,” in every other sentence, and everyone is all “Yes we know he’s your husband.” He’s just so happy and proud though.

"- and my consort, Bilbo," Thorin finished off introductions with a wide smile aimed at his new husband and the hobbit felt himself return the fond look with one of his own. 

It was remarkable how at ease and how happy Thorin seemed now that there was no life threatening quest, dragon to slay, or enemies at his gates to vanquish. The hard lines of his face and tendency towards darker brooding moods had been softened with the reclamation and beginnings of restoration to Erebor. 

Now, having recently married Bilbo as well, Thorin seemed completely content and was far more apt to smile than frown these days… saving perhaps when in certain unavoidable trade negotiations with particular elves that shall remain nameless.

Bilbo honestly could not be happier, though an entirely different life from his old one back in the Shire was definitely taking some getting used to; he was for the most part as content as the dwarf king. 

There _was_ one small thing though… 

At first, Bilbo had barely noticed it happening; he would attend meetings and council and court with his husband and be introduced to many a delegation from different realms in Middle Earth. 

He would offer his own counsel where he thought it appropriate, and keep quiet and listen when topics he did not understand were discussed. Balin had assured him that with time he would gain more knowledge on how to help run a kingdom, and Bilbo had felt comforted by the elder dwarf claiming that even Durin himself had to learn such things. 

The thing that bothered him though, was the introductions. 

Whenever Thorin was announced, he had made it quite apparent that he did not care for lofty titles or grand entrances, and when the king himself introduced his court or advisors (Balin and most of the Company amongst them); it was with friendly civility and an undercurrent of deep respect. 

With Bilbo though… 

"My husband, Bilbo," Bilbo would nod politely to whomever he was being introduced to.

But even once the initial greeting were over…

"I believe my consort has a view on this matter…" 

"Did you have something you wished to add, _amrâlimê_?"

"My husband would like to remind us that-"

Why was he forever affirming Bilbo's status? 

At first, Bilbo had been concerned that perhaps it was because folk disapproved of him or did not take him seriously, and so Thorin's naturally protective streak was coming into play. 

However, this idea was soon quashed when he realised he actually _was_ very much respected, and that Thorin did this with _everyone_ , not just newcomers. 

"Good to see you again, Bard. My husband and I are pleased to have you in Erebor once more-" 

"Your husband can speak for himself you know… and he is standing right here," Bilbo put in, voice very dry but eyes amused. He shared a quick look with Bard who seemed to be attempting to stifle his laughter. 

Thorin floundered for a moment before trying to rectify the situation. "Apologies, _ghivashel_ , I did not mean for it to sound as if-" 

"Furthermore, I think Bard probably knows we are married… he was at the ceremony, Thorin." 

Bard had the pleasure of seeing the King Under the Mountain look incredibly flustered and embarrassed by Bilbo's words, offering a short nod before quickly changing the subject.

 

* * *

 

"I'm sorry I said all that in front of Bard, dear; but I must admit I'm a little confused," Bilbo smiled over the top of his book once he was alone with Thorin that evening. 

Thorin, who had remained quite quiet on 'the husband' matter for the rest of the day, looked up to catch Bilbo's eye questioningly.

"Why do you call me consort and husband so much? Most people we meet already know the fact now, yet you seem to say it all the same. I thought at first that maybe you were worried folk wouldn't take me seriously since I'm a hobbit, but-" 

"Never," Thorin looked startled. "If people who meet you cannot see your worth and suitability straight away, then they are fools." 

Bilbo ducked his head but could not help the teasing remark that fell from his lips. "Forgive me, but I seem to remember a dwarf who thought I was 'lost' and a burden when we first met…" 

"I never said I wasn't one of the fools," Thorin supplied smoothly and a smile stole over his features as well. 

Bilbo chuckled, marking his place in his book with a finger before closing it and giving Thorin his full attention. "Well, if that's not the reason, what is?" 

Thorin looked a little awkward, almost fidgety in his seat, not unlike a certain younger dwarf prince when he was embarrassed or caught doing something he should not. 

"I… I really enjoy saying it," Thorin looked sheepish and averted his gaze. "To have you as my husband and consort is something I did not dare to dream of for a very long time on our journey here, but it was a wish I held close to my heart all the same… Now that I am actually married to you, I find that I cannot keep from mentioning it; it makes me happy… _you_ make me happy. You are simply amazing when dealing with any problem that is presented to you despite having never been trained for such affairs. I admire you as much as I love you, and just feel the need to speak to others about you. " 

Bilbo abandoned the book altogether, uncaring that he lost his place, in order to rush over to Thorin's side and pepper his face with kisses. "That is the sweetest… the soppiest reason anyone could ever fathom. I'm sorry I ever questioned it, you needn't look embarrassed over it." 

Thorin hummed happily at the attention he was given, pulling Bilbo down beside him. "Does that mean I get to continue?" 

"Well, I'll admit now that I know _why_ it will only make me all the more flustered, but yes… on one condition," 

"Anything." 

"You let me do the same."


	27. Needles and Roses AU! Crackfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised myself I'd never try and be funny or write crack... I'm a dirty rotten liar.
> 
> After seeing a post by radioproxy discussing the Needles and Roses AU, and how that in real life whenever you see a tattoo parlour there will invariably be a florist nearby; my head jumped straight into conspiracy theories and crackfic hell. THIS monstrosity is the outcome. For the sake of your collective sanity, I apologise <3
> 
> "Needles and Roses" is the wonderful brainchild of tosquinha and radioproxy on Tumblr. I am so so sorry for this you two! XD I took a LOT of artistic liberties with your plot I think.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a tattoo parlour must be in want of a florist. 

Such seemed to be the case on every high street the country over. Where you found one, the other was never very far away. 

There on the corner would be the tattoo parlour, and just a little way down the street, a florist. It was the way of things, a gentle constant as old as tattoo parlours themselves. 

It was, in actual fact, the _code_. 

One learnt such things when training to become a tattoo artist. It was drummed into you from the very start, usually by a big, hulking, bearded man with more tattoos than free skin could allow. 

"Find yerself a florist," he would growl. "You get yourself set up near a nice proper florist and the trade'll come pourin' in." 

Nobody was quite sure _why_ that was exactly. Be it that people passing the florist saw the artistic displays and beautiful flowers and thought to themselves with the need of starving men for food 'I need that inked on my skin'. Or perhaps it was just some cosmological coincidence, as regular as the turning of the tide and the waxing and waning of the moon. 

Find a florist and your tattoo parlour would flourish as well as their flowers! 

Nobody questioned it, everybody tried to adhere to the rule, and woe betide anyone who did differently; they would fail, their tattoo artist ancestors would shake their heads in shame, and the world would spin on mocking their folly for trying to change the status quo. 

Bilbo Baggins was not one to shirk tradition or tempt ill fate. 

As soon as he had graduated from that place where all tattoo artists learn how to artfully jab at people with needles, he went out into the big wide world with one singular thought in mind; find a florist! 

It was a race, nay a battle, to find the most coveted spot on the high street amongst newly graduated tattoo artists, but Bilbo was nothing if not cunning. 

He used his mother's contacts (see also: long bearded retired hippy folk who poked their noses into others' business), to find one such florist that had yet to be snapped up by a tattoo artist in a village in the more rural outskirts of Oxford.

Bilbo had balked at the idea at first; how on Earth would he find _any_ trade in a _village_? 

Gandalf had been adamant though; this location was the absolute pinnacle, in the mad old codger's opinion, and if Bilbo got as much trade as the florist did, well he'd be set up for life! 

Bilbo personally failed to see how he was going to persuade octogenarians and farmers that tattoos would be a good idea, but Gandalf had never led his mother astray when _she_ had been in the business; so for lack of a better idea, Bilbo decided to trust him.

 

* * *

 

Gandalf was probably the best person ever and if Bilbo didn't wish to throttle him on a daily basis, he might actually hug him.

Despite the tattoo artist's reservations, the village turned out to be quite different than expected. True, it had the quaint homey feel of any typical English village, but being within a stone's throw of Oxford meant that a lot of students and young business folk passed through, and all seemed rather taken with both the florist shop _and_ Bilbo's new tattoo parlour. 

The tattoo parlour was located directly opposite the florist, and Bilbo had nearly wept for joy at the utter beauty of the displays on show. The unspoken magic of the world would definitely work here, he thought confidently. People would see those flowers and want them inked onto their body forever more, even if they were needle phobic! 

And the florist… good gracious, _the florist_! 

He was probably the most handsome thing Bilbo had ever seen, and see him Bilbo did, quite frequently busily working in his shop as Bilbo would sit and stare longingly in between clients. 

Thorin, his name was, or so his assistant Ori had told him, and if Bilbo didn't find a way to flirt with the man soon, Ori was probably going to tattoo a love confession across Bilbo's forehead whilst he slept just to move things along (or so he had threatened).

 

* * *

 

Time passed, and eventually that same unspoken magic that forever bound tattoo parlours to florists seemed impatient to make this particular bond something other than professional… 

… Either that or Thorin had got over his own lonely pining long enough to study some flower language and present Bilbo with a bouquet that all but screamed 'marry me'! 

Plans were made, dates were had, an unlikely couple became inseparable, and eventually Thorin did good by that bouquet and proposed to Bilbo properly. 

The otherworldly magic that connected tattoo parlours and florists was one again appeased, and they all lived happily ever after.


	28. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A teensy bit of angst regarding Bilbo's state of mind following the events in the Battle of the Five Armies. But fear not, he's got his schmoopy, devoted dwarf husband there to help.
> 
> I seem to be stealing all your prompts, bagginshieldhappiness (and your anon's in this case), I'm not sure whether to apologise or not. XD This one is: Imagine after BotFA, Bilbo starts to associate winter with negative feelings because it just reminds him that he almost lost Thorin. Thorin does his best to make sure Bilbo is always warm, making him hot drinks, sitting with him by the fire, etc. And sometimes at night Bilbo will close his eyes and trace the outline of Thorin’s battle scar, haunted by the memory of almost losing what he treasures most. But then Thorin will cover Bilbo’s hand with his own, stilling him with the reminder of everything he still has and how lucky they both are.
> 
> *Note: Thranduil's description as a gutter toad came from one very funny tumblr post I can't seem to find, so kudos to whoever it was that first coined that phrase. If you're wondering what a 'gutter toad' Thranduil looks like; it's the Rankin Bass version of Thranduil :3

Even though they had returned to the Shire, winter still doggedly hounded his thoughts like a wailing spectre. 

Erebor, Ravenhill, the madness, and the battle were all a world away from here. The gently rolling hills, the green and lush country of the Shire enveloped the two of them like a warm blanket; healed their wounds both physical and emotional, and made them whole and hale again. 

But winter… winter would find him no matter where they chose to make their home, and from the moment the last of the leaves were banished from the trees and the nights drew in, Bilbo was distressed.

It had taken him a good year to pinpoint the exact cause initially, as he had always loved winter as a faunt. Of course, there were bad memories surrounding the events during the Fell Winter, but they had never bothered him like this before.

The realisation had come upon him like the creeping of a nightmare one winter's eve two years ago. Thorin had gone to chop some wood for their fire and had been a long time in returning, and by the time he came back, Bilbo was nearly insensate from panic.

It was the memory, Bilbo had realised then as he did his utmost to hide his distress from his husband: the memory of Thorin bleeding out on the ice of Ravenhill, the sharp chill winds stealing his warmth, the ice and snow, the danger. All of it he now firmly associated with winter. 

Bilbo had trembled like a leaf in the breeze that night, and finally with much gentle coaxing, Thorin had convinced his husband to tell him what had him so upset. 

"You nearly _died_. I nearly lost you and this blasted time of year only serves to remind me of it," Bilbo had mumbled quietly into the crook of Thorin's neck, shivering as though even speaking the words might cause them to come true and Thorin might be ripped from him to never return. "Thorin I think I'm going mad, it's all I can think about on nights like this and I have nightmares and… I don't know what to do."

Thorin had murmured encouraging words, comforted him, and explained that he had heard of such ailments amongst warriors. That he himself had suffered the same thing as Bilbo for many a year until the passing of time and help from friends and family had eased the effects. 

"'cept I'm no warrior," Bilbo muttered, a choked sob turned to a bitter laugh. 

"You are a warrior, if not in the conventional sense. You have seen battle, Bilbo and you have known hardship. You are incredibly brave, you know." 

Bilbo scoffed but Thorin was having none of it and had tightened his hold, nuzzling at Bilbo's hair. "Trust me in this, you are as much a warrior as anyone in the Company, and it's only natural what you went through would leave you with these feelings and fears. I'll help you if you'll let me."

Despite the lingering tremors in his limbs and intrusive flashes of memory, Bilbo calmed at the words and even offered his husband a tentative smile. "Alright, if you can help, I'm more than willing to let you."

 

* * *

 

Talking helped, Bilbo found. Where most hobbits preferred to keep their feelings to themselves and maintain decorum after tragedy or fright, Thorin encouraged Bilbo to speak his mind and show his emotions if he needed to. 

It was a new notion, one Bilbo hadn't considered before, but Thorin was adamant that it would help, and he was right. 

Once Thorin knew that winter was the worst reminder of Bilbo's fears, he did everything in his power to remind Bilbo of the pleasant things the season also brought with it.

Hot drinks a plenty, warm clothes and thick blankets, warm fireplaces and quiet evenings spent safely inside chatting, or reading, cooking, or anything else they could think of.

He reminded Bilbo of the hobbits' celebration of Yule and pointed out happy things in Hobbiton; the fauntlings playing in the snow, the beauty of the sunrise over the glistening frost of the hills. 

Thorin always made sure to remind Bilbo of the good in winter and divert his attention from the bad. He consulted with Óin via letter, and even in passing, Elrond as Bilbo had seemed quite fond of the elf. 

With time, the fear and distress surrounding the season lessened, the nightmares became fewer. And if on occasion, Bilbo would become too lost in thought whilst they lay together and trace the line of Thorin's battle scar, Thorin would pull Bilbo close and cover the hand with his own; reminding him firmly that he was still there, they both were and that was what mattered in the end.

 

* * *

 

Nowadays the memory of Ravenhill was still an unpleasant one, but it was distant enough that Bilbo felt content even when snow fell and the nights were long. He was confident enough to even visit the scene in his mind so that he could continue writing his book and Thorin had claimed that this was the mark of someone truly healing. 

The dwarf frowned as he read over Bilbo's shoulder whilst placing a cup of tea at the hobbit's elbow and _tsked_. "I don't remember myself being quite that unreasonable, dear." 

"Hm, no, you weren't nearly as bad as all that, but all stories require some embellishment." 

Thorin snorted his amusement before lowering his head to press a quick slightly awkward kiss to Bilbo's lips as his husband leant back in his seat to regard Thorin upside down. 

"I hope you're not taking what Kíli said to heart too much?" 

His youngest nephew had rather thoughtlessly suggested the three of them be killed off in the book the last time he and his elven wife had visited. "It will help with anonymity and all that," he had claimed. 

He hadn't meant it cruelly, and upsetting Bilbo would have made Kíli feel awful, but thankfully it was testament to how far Bilbo's recovery of the memory had come that the hobbit had just swatted at his nephew and called him a 'royal pain in the backside'. 

"No, not so much… not in that way at least. Though… it isn't such a bad idea, Kíli did make a good point regarding the privacy of your family." 

Thorin rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around Bilbo, squeezing gently. "So you'll listen to his idea of killing us off but not my idea to make Thranduil's appearance like that of a gutter toad?" 

"We'll see," Bilbo's grin was just a little too mischievous for Thorin's liking, but he set aside that sense of foreboding in favour of the happiness and contentment that surrounded them both. 

The winters were not so harsh on him anymore.


	29. Protectiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protectiveness doesn't have to be a physical protection through the strength of a sword, but can be in smaller, loving ways :3
> 
> Yet another bagginshieldhappiness (and anon) prompt for my last contribution to the Fluffy February Event.
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone who left kudos and comments, you're all such lovely people <3 and thank you ever so much for reading. As I have been asked by a couple of people, I'd just like to say; yes I will certainly participate in more Bagginshield events, they're so fun! However, for the next couple of months I will be working on my current multi-chapter fic 'Alone this Yuletide'. With this in mind, if there's any events during this time, I won't be able to post a fanfic every day as I have in this one, but I'll gladly post one here or there to participate all the same =)
> 
> Thanks again, dearies!

If an outsider were to ever look at the dynamic between Thorin and Bilbo based solely on first impressions, they may be forgiven for assuming that Thorin was the more protective of the two. Lavishing his hobbit husband with care and attention whilst making sure he was safe from harm. 

However, this was not quite correct. 

True, Thorin felt a level of protectiveness towards Bilbo, and he always felt the need to ensure his happiness; but the dwarf knew Bilbo could defend himself and it was actually Bilbo who fussed over Thorin more than the other way around. 

After the events of the Quest, Bilbo felt an inherent desire to care for and protect his dwarf. He would not have been much use on a battlefield, this he knew, but he was more than willing to keep his dwarf from harm in other, more inconsequential ways. 

Thorin was prone to overworking himself, especially in those first days when he was newly healed and the restoration of Erebor was proving to be a greater task than most had anticipated. 

On evenings when Thorin would drag himself into their chambers, hissing at the lingering aches in his wounds, Bilbo would usher Thorin to lay down whilst he checked the healing scars, get him something to eat, and then refused to hear of Thorin even looking at paperwork until he had slept. 

"No, don't you dare, back to bed with you, I will look over these reports." Was the usual command. 

Thorin would watch Bilbo work at the desk from his place on the bed, eyes barely open and bleary as he smiled gently and took in every beloved detail of his husband's face whilst he pored over the paperwork that Balin kept issuing him with in a near constant daily stream. 

On mornings too early for those with any sense to be awake, Bilbo would drag himself yawning from his nest of blankets and bid Thorin to sit before him. Whilst there, Bilbo would be the one to brush through Thorin's mane of hair and place the intricate braids with an ease that had come through long practice. 

Thorin would hum and sigh, eyes closed and a blissful grin on his lips at the ministrations, and Bilbo would always lean forward to drop a kiss to the top of his head once he was finished. 

Definitely a good way to start the day. 

On afternoons when Thorin's energy was flagging, he would find Bilbo at his side, beckoning him back to their rooms, or the kitchens, or outside into the fresh air, where he would offer the dwarf both food and a respite from hard work. 

Thorin often wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve such kind attention; he decided not to question Bilbo though, for it was clear that these tasks seemed to make the hobbit as happy as Thorin. 

The truth of the matter was, though Bilbo would never tell, that he felt that after a life of hardship and exile Thorin thoroughly deserved to be pampered, and if he could be the one to do it, then nothing would delight him more.

Although Bilbo could make a good try of protecting Thorin in battle, he knew deep down he would never be as graceful with a sword as his husband, and so if he could protect Thorin in other ways, that was enough for him. 

Protect him from overwork, from discomfort and tiredness; protect him from having to ever suffer a life without simple joys ever again. Thorin could give him the love and companionship he'd never realised he had longed for, and in turn Bilbo would make sure Thorin was as content here in Erebor as he was.


End file.
